#i got so many novelty purses

[futuremercifulnerd]

Between xmas and my early bday presents, i got so much stuff to help with my aesthetic both personally and my apartment, and i got some self care shit too, 2024 better be good to me lol

[chvoswxtch]

trouble

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: it's been almost two weeks since you've seen frank, and in his absence, you've been left in the questionably capable hands of billy russo.

warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of alcohol, brief mention of death

word count: 6k

a/n: this is part 3 of this series! i'm so so so happy that you guys are enjoying bodyguard frankie. I still don't have a clear idea of how many parts this will be, but as long as you keep wanting it, i'll keep writing it. as a reminder, this is going to be a slow burn. ;) & as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

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It had been two weeks since you had seen Frank. You had found out from one of the other bodyguards that he was on a special assignment, and was due back in another week or so. It was hard not to let your mind wander about where he was, what he was doing, who he was with…if he didn’t like being away from you as much as you despised being away from him. 

He probably hasn’t thought about you once.

You shoved that thought as far back into your mind as you could, focusing back on the blank document that was currently mocking you from your computer screen. A knock sounded on your door, and as you looked up, you saw a face that you’d been seeing more and more of lately in Frank’s absence.

Billy Russo.

“Mr. Russo.”

“C’mon Y/N/N, how many times I gotta tell you to call me Billy. Mr. Russo’s so…formal.”

“Says the man always in a three piece suit.”

“I got appearances to keep up.”

Billy flashed you a charming grin as he smoothed out the lapels of his suit jacket, undoing the middle button as he closed the door behind him and took a seat in the chair directly in front of your desk.

“Are you always this hands on with all of your clients? I’ve seen you more this past week than I’ve seen my own boss.”

“Nah, you’re a special situation that requires special attention.”

“Why’s that?”

Billy leaned back in the chair as he looked at you, that cheshire grin splitting further across his lips as he let his eyes wander shamelessly over your figure. Billy Russo was one of those guys that knew he was attractive, which only made him less attractive to you. He always looked too perfect. Always dressed in the most expensive suits, not a single hair ever out of place, beard always trimmed and neat, constantly being driven around in numerous luxury cars. While he wasn’t overly cocky, there was a smugness about him that made you want to roll your eyes every time he was around. Billy owned the company that Frank and the others worked for, but you hadn’t been able to figure out why he had been coming to visit you at least once a day for the past week.

“Told Frankie I’d look after you personally.”

Frankie.

You sat up a little straighter at the mention of Frank’s name, staring curiously at Billy as your face morphed into an expression of interest.

“Why?”

“Because he asked me to. Apparently, you like to cause trouble.”

Billy’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he adjusted the Rolex watch on his wrist, never once breaking eye contact with you. Whatever hope that had been ignited by the first half of his words was immediately snuffed out by the second half.

Frank wasn’t concerned about you. He had warned Billy about you.

Tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, you crossed your arms over your chest as you leaned back into your chair and stared blankly at your computer.

“I’m not causing any trouble any time soon. Trust me.”

“Regrettin’ your decision that caused all this?”

Billy gestured between himself and the other bodyguards outside your office, the grin on his lips faltering as he stared at you with genuine novelty. Narrowing your eyes slightly as you stared back at him, you pursed your lips and shook your head defiantly.

“I didn’t cause anything.”

Tapping his index finger against the wood of the arm chair, Billy cocked his head to the side as he surveyed you silently for a moment.

“Can I ask you somethin’?”

“I feel like even if I say no you’re going to anyway.”

The playful smirk returned to Billy’s mouth as he held his hands up in surrender for a moment before letting them drop back onto his lap.

“You can tell me to fuck off if you want.”

Letting out a dry laugh, you rolled your eyes as you glanced around your office before focusing back on him, giving a gentle nod of your head.

“Go ahead.”

“Why did you do it?”

The faint smile on your lips disappeared at his question. You lightly dug your nails into your palms, a slight sense of enragement filling your veins as you stared blankly at the notes in front of you. People had been asking you that ever since the article came out, and you were sick of justifying yourself.

“Because I didn’t want those assholes to think I agreed with anything they stood for.”

“You did write an article praisin’ the Punisher. He took justice into his own hands. That’s what those guys think they’re doing-”

“I didn’t praise him. I wrote an article about the complexities of vigilantes and the weaknesses in the justice system. What the Punisher did wasn’t right, but he never hurt anyone that didn’t deserve it. These…these cowards, they’re homegrown terrorists. They go after anyone that doesn’t agree with them-”

“And you thought it was smart to antagonize them?”

Billy leaned forward with his forearms on his thighs, staring directly into your eyes with a look of severity you hadn’t seen in him before. Shaking your head slowly, you let out a deep exhale of frustration before meeting his gaze again.

“They took my words and twisted them to fit and justify their own fucked up narrative. I didn’t want them or anyone else thinking for a second that I agreed with, or believed in their bullshit ‘cause’. They’ve hurt and killed innocent people. I wanted them to know exactly what I thought of them. And I’d do it all fucking over again, exactly the same. I don’t regret anything.”

Maybe it wasn’t the brightest idea to offend a group that had been terrorizing New York with various bomb threats and attacks, but you couldn’t sit idly by while they used your Punisher article to justify themselves. Maybe you shouldn’t have verbally eviscerated the leader that had called into your radio interview, or write that scathing follow up piece that further dismantled his ego. It certainly would have kept him from threatening you and everyone that worked at your paper, forcing Homeland Security to get involved, and causing you to walk around with an assigned shadow the past few months. 

But what was your other option? Stay quiet and let them think you were on their side just because they were dangerous? Live in fear of pissing off some weak man with a fragile ego?

Fuck that.

Billy’s lips once again split into a wolfish grin, and his eyes almost seemed to be glowing with something that resembled pride. He nodded his head in a sign of respect, settling back into the chair as his eyes once again roamed over you.

“I see why he likes you.”

Blinking a few times, you stared in dumbfoundment as Billy’s words settled in your ears. A dark chuckle left his lips as he stood, buttoning his jacket up while he made his way over to your door. Pausing in the entryway, he lightly gripped onto the handle and looked at you over his shoulder with a smirk.

“See you Saturday night, doll.”

“W-what?”

“The gala. You’re goin’ still, right?”

“Uh…yeah. Why?”

“Who do you think is takin’ you in Castle’s absence?”

Stunning you silent for the second time in less than two minutes, Billy’s lips spread into a smirk as he dropped his left eye into a wink, closing your door shut behind him to leave you alone with a flurry of thoughts swirling around in your head like a snowglobe that had been violently shaken. 

The gala.

Fuck.

Frank was supposed to be your escort. He was the primary one in charge of your detail at all times. Billy had assured your boss and Homeland that Frank was the best of the best, and the only time he swapped out with someone else was when they changed shifts during week nights. Or when he was pulled to do something that was more important than protect you from a terrorist group, apparently. A part of you wondered if he really was pulled, or if he had requested a break from you after the shit you had pulled.

There was no denying the disappointment you felt at the thought of not getting to see Frank all dressed up for a black tie event. It made sense Billy would be the one to take his place. He would blend in a lot easier than Frank, but he wasn’t who you wanted to spend the evening with. Dragging your palms down your face, you let out a deep exhale as you picked up your notes for the article you were supposed to be working on, the words blurring together in a jumbled mess as you read over them for the millionth time. You’d had an extremely hard time focusing lately with Frank being gone, trying your hardest not to think about the look on his face when he had left, the wedding ring around his neck, or anything about him. But now with Billy’s confession echoing in your ears, it was even harder.

I see why he likes you.

»»———　　———««

Billy was having the absolute time of his fucking life, and that annoyed you to your wits end. There wasn’t a single person in attendance at the gala he didn’t know, or didn’t seem to want to kiss his ass, and since you had promised not to cause any trouble, you weren’t to leave his side at all. Which meant you had to wait for him to finally shut the fuck up whenever you were ready for another trip to the open bar. 

A tiny piece of you hated to admit that having Billy as your escort wasn’t all bad. He’d picked you up in a Rolls Royce and practically undressed you with his eyes, keeping his compliments professional but not bothering to hide the hunger in his voice. While it stroked your ego the way he kept eyeing you in your dress, you quickly remembered that Billy Russo hit on anything with tits and a heartbeat. It did make you breathe a little easier that he was such an important person though, hoping that meant no one would try anything with you while you were in his company, and that the night wouldn’t end in fireworks. 

Sipping at your third glass of red wine, you watched as socialites and powerful political figures alike mingled in their fanciest outfits. An hour into the event you’d convinced Billy to let you sit at a table in his direct line of sight, growing bored of following him around like a shadow as he networked. Lightly trailing your index finger up and down the stem of your wine glass, your mind once again drifted to Frank. He wouldn’t have let you sit at a table all alone. He’d be the one following you around. 

You wondered if he’d like your dress. It was a simple emerald green satin gown with a low cut back and a deep v line that stopped at your sternum. You’d originally picked it out with him in mind, wondering if the way it hugged your body and showed off your figure would finally get your resigned bodyguard’s attention. A dry laugh left your lips at the thought of him, knowing he realistically would’ve just grunted in response when you asked if he liked it, looking anywhere but at you as he scanned the room like a guard dog. 

You missed Frank. You wondered if you would’ve gotten him to joke with you again if he had come tonight. You thought about picking out pretentious victims from the crowd with him, making up stories about who they were, misreading their lips on purpose knowing what they were actually talking about was far more ridiculous than anything the two of you could come up with. You wondered if he would’ve danced with you if you asked. You wondered if he would’ve asked.

You wondered where he was.

You wondered if he was with his wife. 

Swallowing the rest of the bitter burgundy contents in your glass, you glanced up when Billy’s tall figure suddenly appeared in front of you. He eyed your empty glass, flickering his eyes to yours with a playful arch of one of his dark brows.

“You gonna pace yourself?”

“I’ll be fine. You’re lucky I’m not drinking tequila.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Rolling your eyes, you leaned back into your chair and smoothed your dress out, tucking a loose curl behind your ear. Billy unbuttoned his suit jacket as he sat down beside you, turning his body towards you slightly.

“You know, I’ve never seen someone look so unhappy at a party.”

“I’m not unhappy.”

“You’re not havin’ a good time. What, I’m not good enough company for you?”

“How would I know? You’ve spent the whole night being the life of the party instead of my security escort.”

Billy stiffened slightly beside you, causing you to let out a deep exhale as you turned your head to look at him with an apologetic expression.

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. You weren’t even supposed to be babysitting me tonight. You should be having a good time for having to put up with my shit.”

Billy placed his hand on your wrist, causing you to face him again as he looked at you completely void of his usual playful charm.

“Hey, I’m not babysittin’ you. I’m here to look after you. I know Frank can be a bit too hands on, so I was givin’ you your space. Didn’t want you to feel suffocated, that’s all. But if I’m bein’ too hands off, I can change that. Whatever makes you feel more comfortable.”

The sincerity in Billy’s voice caught you off guard, and it made you feel guilty. He didn’t hardly know you, and he certainly didn’t owe you anything. He was doing all of this because it was his job, and as a favor to Frank. Glancing around at all the people in attendance, you nibbled slightly at the inside of your cheek before looking back at Billy.

“Did…did he tell you about that night in the bar?”

Billy sat up a little straighter as his lips pressed into a set line, giving a slight nod of his head in your direction.

“He did.”

“That was my fault. I fucked up. And all I’ve been able to think about since…is how any one of those guys could’ve been one of them, and that would’ve been it. I haven’t felt comfortable in a crowd since. Shit…I haven’t felt comfortable since I got that first death threat. But I wasn’t really…scared until that night. I don’t know what would’ve happened if-”

Letting out a shaky breath, you averted your gaze down to your lap, brushing your hair away from your face as you held onto the back of your own neck in an attempt to self soothe. You weren’t sure why you were telling Billy all of this. You weren’t sure why you were feeling so vulnerable and emotional. But you were suddenly feeling grateful for his presence as he took your hand into his and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Hey, nothin’ is gonna happen to you tonight. I promise. If you want me to stay with you, I will. I’ll go where you go. You want me to fuck off, I will. You just let me know what you need. You wanna leave?”

“No…no I didn’t…nearly have a breakdown in my bathroom because my hair wouldn’t cooperate just to leave so soon.”

The edge of Billy’s mouth curved upwards into a smirk, nodding slowly as he leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through his own hair to push it back into place.

“I know the feelin’.”

Rolling your eyes, you let out a soft laugh as you stared at him incredulously.

“Oh please. Like Billy Russo ever has a bad hair day.”

“Hey, you see the finished product, not the bloodbath it took to get there.”

Billy abruptly craned his neck to look past you, furrowing his dark brows as he nodded sharply at someone before glancing down at you with a softer expression.

“You excuse me for a sec? I’ll be right back, I promise.”

“Yeah, sure. I’m gonna go find the bathroom anyway.”

Billy paused in the middle of standing up, glancing between you and the hallway that led to where the bathrooms were, lifting his brows up slightly as he looked at you again.

“I can wait for you if-”

“No, it’s alright. Besides, I know you got eyes all over this place.”

Looking up at him with a soft smile on your lips, you watched as Billy’s lips pulled into a wide grin before he winked.

“Goddamn right I do.”

Never in a million years did you think you would be baring your soul to Billy Russo, or that confessing your fears to him would make you feel lighter, but surprisingly it did. Perhaps you had been just as wrong about him as you had been about Frank. 

For the first time all evening, you felt like you could actually breathe. Billy’s words had a calming effect on you, and you didn’t feel anxious anymore as you walked alone towards the bathrooms. The long hallway was surprisingly empty and seemed to go on forever. You paused as you noticed a set of french doors at the end of the hall that were slightly opened, revealing a balcony of some kind. You walked right past the bathrooms as your inquisitiveness got the better of you.

“Where you think you’re goin’?”

Instantly freezing in place, a surprised gasp flew past your lips when a familiar deep gruff voice cut through the sound of your heels clacking along the empty tiled hallway.

You knew that voice.

Frank.

Quickly spinning around, your eyes widened considerably as you took in the sight in front of you; Frank Castle in a sleek all black suit. 

He was the most cleaned up you had ever seen him. Frank had been growing his hair out lately, enough for you to notice it had a bit of a curly texture to it, but it looked like he had gotten it trimmed recently, and it was pushed back into a neat style. There weren’t any bruises or cuts littering his face, and it looked like he had just shaved since his usual five o’clock shadow was gone. The suit somehow made him look even bigger. His shoulders looked immensely broader in the jacket, and the dark material clung to his bulging arms and thick thighs as if it had been tailored to fit him perfectly. 

The thought briefly crossed your mind that it probably had been if it had been provided by Billy for the event. 

Thank you Billy Russo.

You were all of a sudden painfully aware that Frank had been staring at you silently, essentially watching you ogle at him as he waited for your answer. His features were set in an indifferent expression that had a hint of irritation lingering beneath, one you had gotten all too familiar with, and it caused a flush of scarlet to coat your cheeks as you parted your lips to speak and tried to remember how.

“I…just…was curious. About what’s out there. I saw the door was open…and…what-what are you doing here?”

“Russo’s fuckin’ job apparently.”

Blinking a few times, you were stunned silent by the anger that bit through Frank’s words, noticing the ember of vexation that burned in his deep espresso eyes. Your brain was still trying to process the sight of him in a suit, and you struggled to figure out what he seemed to be pissed off about until Billy’s name clicked it all into place.

“Don’t be mad at him. I told him I was just going to the bathroom and coming right back. That’s…my fault. I got sidetracked.”

“Didn’t realize you two were so close.”

A muscle feathered in Frank’s jaw as his coarse voice spit those words into your ear, and you crossed your arms over your chest as you leaned against the wall and lightly shrugged your shoulders, averting your gaze to the fancy tiled floor.

“I wouldn’t say that. I think tonight is the most I’ve ever talked to him.”

“Seemed pretty close when you were holdin’ his hand.”

Flickering your eyes up to meet Frank’s, your lips parted in shock. 

How long had he been here?

You furrowed your brows slightly as you tried to figure out what he was talking about. A look of realization spread over your face when it dawned on you that Billy had held your hand at the table earlier when you had opened up about the night at the bar with Frank and your current apprehensions about crowds.

Why did he sound so pissed off about that?

Shaking your head slowly, you tucked some of your hair behind your ear as you stared down at the floor once again, unable to meet his fiery disappointed gaze.

“That wasn’t…he was just being nice. I was giving him shit about spending more time flaunting himself than looking after me. It’s…been a long week and I wasn’t…I was feeling uneasy about being here tonight.”

In a flash Frank was in front of you, his large hand lightly gripping onto your chin to force you to look up at him as his eyes frantically searched over your form.

“Why? Somethin’ happen?”

The way Frank could switch from a broody, intimidating man that could snap someone in half with his bare hands to a gentler version of himself that spoke to you and touched you as if you were made of glass in less than a millisecond nearly gave you whiplash and always left you in a daze. You stared up into his concerned eyes almost in a trance, lightly wrapping your fingers around his wrist as you let out a breath.

“No. Nothing happened, it's just…since the bar…I’ve just…been kinda freaked out. I’ve never really liked crowds, but now they make me even more nervous. It’s…it’s my fault. I did all this to myself.”

“Don’t say that. You didn’t do nothin’ wrong.”

“I put myself in danger. When I wrote those articles…when I said what I did to him…that night at the bar…I just…have a really awful habit of putting myself in bad situations, apparently.”

Frank’s lips parted slightly, as if he was going to say something, but you were caught on the way his features had softened substantially as he stared down at you. There was an emotion lingering in his eyes that looked like pity, or maybe remorse, but you couldn’t make it out. It was always so hard to read him.

“Oh, shit.”

Frank instantly turned his head in the direction of Billy’s voice, dropping his hand from your face and standing up a little straighter as his expression of annoyance from earlier returned full force.

“You wanna tell me why she’s alone?”

“She was just goin’ to the bathroom, Frankie. Relax. I got four guys watchin’ cameras, and twelve posted around the whole place.”

“I asked you for one thing, Bill. One goddamn thing.”

“Frank-”

“I asked you to watch her, personally. That means watch her. Not parade yourself around like fuckin’ royalty while she sits by herself at a fuckin’ table and wanders around the goddamn place alone.”

Billy instantly pressed his lips into a hard line, his eyes narrowing slightly as he stared at Frank’s irritable form. Frank looked absolutely pissed off as he glared back at Billy, and for whatever reason, you felt the need to come to Billy’s defense. Moving to position yourself between the two men, you placed your hand on Frank’s chest to get his attention.

“I asked him to do that, Frank. I didn’t feel like mingling with anyone. We thought it was a smart idea if Billy looked like a regular attendee instead of a bodyguard in case anyone tried anything, and I really didn’t want the extra attention. He made sure I was where he could see me at all times. Frank, he’s been coming by my office everyday to check on me while you were gone. Please don’t be upset, it was my idea. I just didn’t want the headache.”

Frank clenched his jaw as he stared down at you, his dark eyes occasionally flickering over your head to meet Billy’s. Letting out a deep exhale through his nose, he nodded his head towards the other direction of the hallway.

“If you’re done fuckin’ around out here, get back inside.”

Frank’s voice was so rough as it came out, it felt as if he’d physically slapped you across the face. You did your best not to let your emotions get the best of you, quickly dropping your hand from Frank’s chest as if it had burned you. Giving a light submissive nod, you swiftly turned on your heel to walk back towards the party. Billy eyed you with pity as you walked past him, and you promptly dropped your gaze, not wanting him to see the hurt that threatened to slip past your waterline. 

Bypassing the table that you had been sitting at, you made a beeline for the open bar, tucking yourself away at the furthest corner as you ordered your fourth glass of red wine of the night. The bitter taste on your tongue was nothing compared to the bitter resentment you felt towards Frank right now. He had been so hot and cold with you lately, it was driving you mad. You could never tell where you stood with him. You had never wanted so badly to look into another person’s mind to figure out what they were thinking or feeling. Frank was a brick wall when he wanted to be, and you weren’t sure if you had the patience or the strength to try to break through. 

Ten minutes later, you felt Frank’s presence beside you before you saw him out of the corner of your eye. The scent of his cologne was more intoxicating than anything they were serving tonight, and you resisted every urge to move closer to the source. 

“Might wanna consider slowin’ down. That’s your fourth one.”

So he had been here all night.

You weren’t in the mood to argue with him, so you simply slid the glass over on the bar towards him and turned around to walk back to the table. Frank caught your wrist to halt your movements, and you looked up at him with furrowed brows. His lips were downturned into a frown that tugged at your heartstrings, and the lighting above the bar cast a spotlight on the guilt pooling in his eyes.

“I didn’t say stop, just…be careful. You have a hard time findin’ your limit.”

“I know where it is, Frank. I just ignore it.”

Frank’s face twisted up with an emotion you couldn’t decipher, and as you went to tug your wrist free from his grasp, his fingers tightened to hold you firmly in place.

“Hey…look, I’m uh…I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Bein’ a dick, back there. I didn’t mean to. I…just…I asked Bill for a favor-”

“Because I’m a handful.”

Frank’s dark brows knit together in the center of his forehead as he stared down at you, features drawn in confusion.

“What? No. Cause I trust him. I know what he’s capable of, and I know he’s the only other person that could protect you as good as me.”

A fresh spell of heat pooled in your lower belly at Frank’s words, and a rosy tint rose to the surface of your cheeks.

Frank hadn’t warned Billy about you. Frank only trusted Billy with you.

“Oh…I thought…maybe you…had told him I was trouble.”

Frank cocked his head to the side while he looked at you, and suddenly a faint smirk curled at the edge of his mouth as he chuckled lowly.

“Well, that you are, sweetheart. But it wasn’t that. Matter of fact, I’m kinda disappointed you didn’t give Russo a run for his money. You only like fuckin’ with me?”

Sweetheart. There it was again.

You immediately blushed realizing Frank had been onto you, trying your best to hide your grin as you feigned an expression of mock offense.

“Frank Castle, when have I ever fucked with you?”

Frank narrowed his eyes slightly in a playful glare, arching one of his dark brows in challenge as his lips spread into a devilish grin.

“You want a list?”

Granting him a roll of your eyes, you sank your teeth into your bottom lip as you giggled, lifting your hands up in surrender as you shrugged your shoulders.

“Okay, fine. Maybe I do. Will not confirm or deny. But, I can tell you that Billy isn’t nearly as fun to be around, and I was worried that he would have an aneurysm if I derailed even a second of his perfect life.”

“Probably, but woulda been damn funny to watch.”

These were the moments it was the hardest to be around Frank. When he did let the broody facade drop. When he smiled at you, joked with you, and acted like he genuinely cared about you and that you weren’t just some assignment. Because it made it all that much harder when he inevitably switched back into your ruminative bodyguard. 

“You look really good in a suit.”

As soon as the words flew past your lips, your heart started to beat faster. Those four glasses of wine were finally catching up to you and slowly dismantling the filter between your mouth and your brain. Frank’s grin faltered, and he looked completely taken aback by your comment. He quickly cleared his throat, lightly tugging at the tie around his neck as he timidly met your eyes.

“Uh, thanks. Gotta be honest, it’s real fuckin’ uncomfortable. Don’t know how the hell Bill wears these things all the goddamn time.”

“He can’t pull off jeans and a regular shirt like you can.”

Jesus Christ please shut the fuck up.

As the heat of embarrassment flamed in your cheeks, you swiftly turned your head to look anywhere but at Frank, trying your hardest to find a new subject of conversation.

“So-”

“You wanna dance?”

Frank looked just as surprised by his own question as you did, lifting his hand to awkwardly scratch at the back of his neck before gesturing around to the party.

“Since we’re s’posed to be blendin’ in and all that. You don’t gotta, just thought-”

“I do.”

A timid smile spread over your lips as you looked up at Frank, swallowing thickly as you held out your hand for him to take. Glancing between your eyes and your hand, Frank gave a slight nod and grunted quietly in response before taking your hand to lead you to the dance floor. Your hand trembled when you raised it to place on Frank’s shoulder, a quiet gasp leaving your parted lips as his large hand settled on your waist. He clasped your small hand in his large one, his deep brown eyes glancing around at everyone over your head.

“Um…can you dance?”

Frank looked almost offended by your question as he looked down at you, cocking his head to the side.

“You didn’t think to ask me that before followin’ me over here?”

“Just curious.”

“What? Don’t I look like I can dance?”

“Oh, yeah. Absolutely. I mean you’re so…graceful.”

“Smartass.”

A fit of giggles slipped past your lips as you momentarily leaned your forehead against Frank’s chest, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before pulling back to peer up at him with a grin.

“Just don’t step on my toes, please. I really like these shoes. And I’m pretty sure you would break them considering you’re twice my size.”

“Just for that I’m gonna do it on purpose. See how much trouble you can cause with two broken feet.”

Your mouth immediately fell open as you stared up at Frank with wide eyes.

“Frank!”

His eyes crinkled at the sides as he bellowed with laughter, shaking his head slowly as he lightly squeezed your waist.

“Aw c’mon, you know I’m kiddin’.”

“Actually, I don’t. I think you would. And just for that, I’m requesting a new bodyguard.”

“No.”

“What?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Cause I said so.”

You glared up at Frank with a smug grin spreading across your lips, jutting your chin out defiantly as you shrugged.

“Not your call.”

“Actually it is. See, the guys report to me, and Bill ain’t gonna challenge me. So, as I said before, no.”

Frank tilted his head to the side as he stared down at you with the ghost of a smirk covering his lips. The look in his eyes caused a fire to erupt in your lower belly, and you rolled your eyes so that you could look away. Frank was surprisingly a great dancer, making it feel as if the two of you were floating around the dance floor together effortlessly.

“You uh…you look nice.”

Whipping your head up in Frank’s direction, you stared blankly up at him as his words translated in your ears.

“What?”

“Your dress and all. Meant to tell you earlier. You uh, look…beautiful.”

The sincerity in Frank’s voice and his gaze made your heart swell, feeling as if it had completely swollen inside your ribcage. Taking in a sharp breath, you lightly squeezed onto his shoulder to steady yourself as your voice came out quiet.

“Thank you.”

Frank grunted quietly in response with a nod of his head, averting his gaze to survey the room like it was second nature. You couldn’t stop staring at him as his words swirled around inside your head.

“You’re really good at this, you know.”

A timid smile appeared on Frank’s lips as he chuckled lowly, glancing briefly down at you.

“Was worried I’d be rusty. I ain’t danced like this in quite awhile.”

“When was the last time?”

The smile on Frank’s face was instantly torn away like a vengeful tide erasing a sandcastle. You stilled as you watched his dark eyes immediately harden, the outline of his strong jawline becoming sharper as it set roughly. The shift in the mood felt as if someone had tossed a bucket of ice cold water over you, and you fumbled to backtrack.

“Sorry, I didn’t-”

“My wedding.”

Frank didn’t meet your eyes as he spoke. The playful tone of his voice from earlier was long gone, leaving nothing but the rough gravel behind. 

“I…I’m sorry. I…it must be difficult for you. I’ve never been divorced-”

“Didn’t get divorced. She died.”

Frank’s confession knocked all the wind right out of your lungs. He said it so…casually, but with so much pain and anger layered beneath the syllables. The only reason his eyes met yours again was because he noticed you had stopped dancing. Frank’s eyes had become wild, completely blown open like a wound with shades of rage and grief. It caused a shiver to caress your spine.

“Frank-”

“Don’t.”

There was a hard edge to his voice, a warning mixed with a plea as he stared down at you. Giving a slight nod of your head, you snapped your mouth shut, unable to tear your gaze away from him. Frank stared you down silently for a moment before relinquishing his grip on your waist and dropping his hand from yours to take a step backwards.

“Bill will take you home.”

“What? Where are you going?”

“Got somethin’ to finish up.”

“Right now?”

Frank’s impenetrable glare stunned you once again into submission, and you found yourself nodding again since you didn’t trust your voice. Giving you one last final look over, Frank forced his way through the crowd towards the exit, leaving you completely stunned and all alone in the middle of the dance floor.

tags: @jwjeepers @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @neverlandcity @charmedkim @stilldreaming666 @dark-academia-slut

[demonslayedher]

As you may know, I recently moved to Osaka and have been welcomed by posters everywhere about this collab going on throughout the Osaka Metro. On my first commute to work, Tanjiro was there in one of my busy transfers to cheer me on, and I felt fully encouraged! But Uzui-san believed this was a good chance for me to get to know some of the stations better and sent me on this mission to search out clues and codes throughout seven stations, using the kit available for purchase which includes a few of the tools you need to solve the puzzles. I dressed up in a Suma-inspired blue theme today, and it seems he sent along a Muscle Mouse to watch out for me out there in the big city.

We weren't alone, though,and indeed spotted many people carrying the same kit through the afternoon.

I find the roles for this funny, like the kids have Pillar supervisors in each of their roles. I originally thought Uzui-san was also on the repair team, meaning Inosuke needs two Pillars to supervise him, but it seems Giyuu is stuck alone with Inosuke and Uzui is a conductor with Tanjiro, who wears his uniform more recognizably neatly. That puts Rengoku in charge of selling bentou with Nezuko (the bentou are at more risk with one of them than the other, they might all get purchased but not spread amongst the hungry masses), and Shinobu supervisoring Zenitsu in customer service. That's going to get annoying as they greet female passengers.

Anyway! Muscle Mouse and I started the day at the cafe. As usual with these events, there is a novelty surcharge, and you enjoy the food and drinks more for the fun and giggles than for the taste. They sweeten the deal by throwing in some number of freebie coasters depending on the price of your menu items. Since I'm welcoming myself to Osaka with this event, I went with something Osaka style, the fried skewers, aka kushi. One of them was inspired by a black Nichirin blade. I didn't mind it since I've done a lot of these and know not to have high expectations but Muscle Mouse insisted we were getting ripped off but ate half of them anyway.

After that we went shopping next door. As usual, I spent too much. But!! I got Kanroji socks!! No, not the socks, just white ones with her Nichirin-to hand guard motif, and they are adorable. Having bought the kit, I also got to spin the raffle once--or rather, Muscle Mouse spotted it and insisted on doing the hard work.

Muscle Mouse won an Inosuke postcard and wanted to show it off more, but I reminded him we still had a city's subways to explore.

Since there were some displays, we looked around more, found some demon slayers and a life-size Nezuko, eee so high and cute! Muscle Mouse didn’t care that he was totally covering up the view of Giyuu.

In our exploring, we accidentally found something we weren't supposed to find yet.

I realized pretty quickly that we shouldn't be there (yet) but Muscle Mouse was too proud of having accomplished the mission so quickly, I couldn't stop him from stamping our paper complete before we'd even started... sigh

As for the actual game, how long it takes you partially depends on how well you read instructions and navigate subway stations. For Muscle Mouse, who can't read, it took no time at all. For me, it took about 4 hours, but I really could had used Muscle Mouse's help at some navigational spots, for he knows a thing or two about mazes. Dang mouse was so proud of himself he fell asleep in my purse, though, belly full of that kushi he complained about.

As for me, it was fun, glad I did it! Some puzzles were easy, others were very satisfying to crack. I'm still happy to have Tanjiro smiling at me on my commute for a little while.

[brewsterispunkk]

die for you in secret

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

warnings: mutual pining, fluff, angst to happy ending :,)

WC: 4.1k

summary: “all these people think love’s for show, but I would die for you in secret,” or “would it be enough if I could never give you peace?”

a/n: this one is for @thot-of-khonshu for @pedrostories secret santa ! I had so much fun with the prompt and i hope it doesn’t disappoint! the lyric prompt comes from taylor swift’s peace. enjoy, and happy holidays!!!!💖💖💖💖

die for you in secret

2000

Your scuffed chucks looked stupid next to his white ones against the roof tiles.

It almost made you laugh at the stark difference.

You and Frankie had purchased the shoes together last summer, after you both got your first paychecks from your summer job at a mini-golf place. It had been a big deal; a right of passage. A purchase with your best friend to mark the milestone of your first job together. Now, nearly ten months later, Frankie’s still looked as pristine as the day he had bought them, and yours were scuffed and stained with age and wear.

You supposed that was just the difference between you and Frankie: you were always the wild card, the person who acted first and thought about consequences later, while Frankie looked before he leaped.

“What is it?” Frankie’s foot nudged yours from where he laid sprawled next to you on the roof.

“Nothin,’” you mumbled back to him, passing him the smoking joint.

He raised an eyebrow at you and took a drag.

At seventeen, the two of you were young and stupid enough to think that smoking weed in broad daylight was a good idea, and the novelty of the drug had yet to wear off on you.

“Bullshit,” he exhaled the smoke, the scent of teen rebellion filling the warm air above you. “Tell me.”

“My shoes look dumb next to yours,” you blanched, thinking of shrugging him off but deciding against it. You never were good at lying to him.

“Did you hear that from Santi?” He asked, chuckling.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“He’s our best friend,” you corrected. Frankie snorted.

“You’re my best friend,” Frankie let his head drop down beside yours, turning his eyes to the blue sky above you that was rife with clouds. “Everyone else is just confetti.”

“Ha,” you said, sarcasm rolling from your tongue. “I’ll tell him that, I’m sure he’ll appreciate the sentiment.”

“Ahh, he already knows.” Frankie waved you off.

You tried to ignore the butterflies in your stomach at his words, frustrated that they still persisted no matter how much you tried to stomp them down.

Everyone else is just confetti.

You sighed.

Frankie had been your best friend since fifth grade, when you had transferred schools. He’d been your only friend for that entire year, and he hadn’t been able to get rid of you since.

Santi came along freshman year and completed your trio. And no matter how many times you’d told Frankie that he was full of shit, that the three of you were best friends, Frankie would insist differently. That you, who had been by his side since the two of you were ten, were his best friend. Even in high school, when you’d joined student government and he’d had a growth spurt that made him the object of every girl’s attention, you’d remained the same as you always had. And therein lied the problem.

You, in sometime between when you’d met and now, had fallen in love with Frankie. So much so that no matter who you dated or hooked up with, or whoever he dated or hooked up with, it was always him. And you were hopeless. It was a blessing that he didn’t know yet (Frankie Morales couldn’t read a room if his life depended on it), and it was a miracle that Santi hadn’t caught on yet.

“D’ya think he’ll be mad at us?” You asked, turning your head to face Frankie.

From here you could see his profile perfectly; his strong, aquiline nose, his lips pursed in contemplation, his eyelashes that were so long they were sinful—No!

You snapped yourself out of it.

“Who, Santi?”

“Yeah.”

“For what?” Frankie turned to you and you could feel his breath on your face.

“For skipping without him!” you burst, turning your head away. You were scared that if you looked at him like that—with his wide brown eyes and floppy dark hair—that you would do something stupid like kiss him.

“He’ll get over it,” Frankie said. “Besides, you know he doesn’t like to smoke.”

“Hmm,” you hummed, taking another drawl from the joint.

It was true; Santi didn’t like weed. He didn’t like the way it smelled or the way it fucked up your lungs. Besides, he ran track, and didn’t need a failed drug test to stand in his way of a college scholarship.

“Did he tell you about the party tonight?” Frankie asked after you were silent for a few moments.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

You laughed.

“I said I’d go,” you nudged his shoulder with your own. He let out a sigh of relief beside you.

“Well that makes me feel better.”

“Why do you say that?” you asked curiously.

Although Frankie wasn’t the party animal Santi was, or the wild child you were, he wasn’t opposed to parties. His growth spurt last summer had flung him into popularity, and a popular girlfriend along with a few new friends on the football team had secured your trio invitations to more parties than even you knew what to do with. The reluctance he was showing was something new.

“It's just,” he sighed, sitting up with his elbows on his knees. “I’m not necessarily looking forward to the whole… fanclub thing.”

Oh.

After Frankie had broken up with his girlfriend of three months, Giselle, last week, the female population of your high school had swarmed. Hey, you couldn’t blame them. But still, Frankie was shy, and definitely not used to the attention. Santi had cheekily nicknamed Frankie’s new suitors as, “the fanclub.”

“Well, I’ll fight ‘em off for you,” you joked, sitting up with him. He chuckled.

“Thanks,” he said softly. “I don’t know. It was different when I was with Giselle. I mean, I was taken. Off the market. Now, wherever I go, it feels like I’m looked at under a microscope. I hate it.”

You were silent for a moment, struck at the raw insecurity that Frankie was finally voicing. He seemed to take your silence for a sign to continue.

“It’s like they’re not even doing it because they like me,” he said. “They don’t even wanna get to know me, it’s just about how I look. It’s all about others seeing, it’s all…”

“For show,” you offered. His eyes met yours, melancholy.

“Yeah.”

“We don’t have to go,” you said. “My mom will freak if I break curfew again. We could tell Santi that I don't wanna risk it.”

Frankie tossed you a crooked smile, before bringing his arm around your shoulders.

“Nah,” he said. “He’s been looking forward to this for weeks. Garrett’s throwing it.”

Your lips parted in understanding. Of course you had to go.

Garrett was the boy that Santi had been crushing on since tenth grade. There was no way the three of you could miss this party.

“Alright,” you finally said. “We’ll go then. How bad can it be?”

- - - -

Astronomically bad, it turns out.

You rubbed your clammy palms on the denim miniskirt you already regretted wearing as you sat on your knees on the scratchy basement carpet.

Across from you, Santi made intense eye-contact with you, the look on his face urgent, as if to tell you, “calm down.” Frankie sat a few people down from you in the circle you had created, wedged between two girls who were practically falling over him.

“Well?” One of them asked, an eyebrow arched. “It’s your turn.”

She nodded to the bottle in front of you and you choked. Right. That’s what you were here to do.

God, why had you agreed to this?

You reached out and twirled the bottle with a flick of your wrist, hoping to god it landed anywhere but Trent Dean who had been leering at you all evening. Spin the bottle had been his idea.

You held your breath as it slowed to a stop in front of…

Frankie.

Your breath left your chest, and you stared at his brown eyes that were as wide as yours were.

The whole circle was quiet for a moment, until one of the girls next to Frankie scoffed. Santi cleared his throat, before patting his thighs.

“Well,” he said, voice strained. “You can’t argue with the bottle.”

“Alright, you know the drill, in the closet, seven minutes.” Trent sneered, glaring at Frankie who all of a sudden looked more sheepish than you’d seen him the entire night.

You panicked at the mention of the time. Seven minutes might as well be an eternity.

“Make that three!” A voice piped up. Santi had crossed his arms and was now staring at Trent. “We have a curfew.”

Thank God for Santiago, you thought as you got to your feet.

You wobbled a bit and Frankie’s hand came out to steady you. Someone from the circle whistled before Santi promptly smacked them.

The closet was exactly as you’d expected; stuffy, dark, and filled with old jackets and golf clubs that once belonged to someone’s grandfather. And Frankie. Frankie was also there.

You wiped off your hands on your skirt again, your stomach in knots.

The sound of teenagers whooping and laughing outside was muffled, and you could scarcely hear your own heartbeat over the sound of your breathing.

“We don’t have to, you know.” Frankie broke the silence. “They wouldn’t know.”

You winced.

Except they would, you thought.

“My lipstick, Frankie.” You cringed.

“What?”

“My lipstick. It’s red. They’ll know if we don’t kiss.”

Frankie sighed resolutely.

“Alright then.” He said. “Wanna just get it over with?”

You shriveled a bit on the inside. Of course he’d see this as something to get over with. You knew that. You’d expected that, it didn’t mean it hurt any less.

Frankie seemed to take your silence as apprehension.

“Or not,” he added. “I can go back out there and tell them all to fuck off if that’s what you want.”

“No, no it’s okay, Frank,” you rushed, hands finding his forearms in the dark. “I just zoned out.”

“Okay,” he seemed unconvinced.

“Okay.”

“I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Oka—“

And before you could comprehend it, his lips were on yours.

They were decisive, unyielding, like he knew what he was doing. Which, you learned, quickly, that he did.

Almost immediately, his hands snaked around your waist, drawing you flush against his front. At the same time, his lips parted yours with a gentle urgency, nothing like you’d expected. His tongue gently prodded into your mouth, and you couldn’t help but gasp at the contact. Your knees, (embarrassingly), buckled, and you stumbled further into him.

“Hmph,” he let out a noise between a moan and an exclamation as you returned his kiss with equal fervor.

You sighed in response, your hands moving from his arms to tangle in his hair. It was exactly as soft as you’d imagined and god, now that you’d gotten a taste of Frankie, you weren’t sure you could ever go back.

The door opening sent the two of you jumping apart.

“Time’s up,” Garrett said amusedly. Behind you, you saw that most of the other people in the circle had left the room.

“Game over?” Frankie asked coolly.

“It would seem so,” Santi raised an eyebrow. The four of you were the only ones remaining in the room.

“Hmm,” you hummed. “Well, we have 45 minutes til we have to leave, wanna dance?”

“Sure, dancing queen, let’s go,” Santi linked his arm with yours and began to lead you out of the room.

You didn’t need to turn to Frankie to see the expression on his face; you were sure you already knew what it held and you weren’t in the mood to see his regret today.

Behind you, Frankie brushed his lips, now stained cherry red.

- - - -

2009

He brought his new girlfriend this year, and you’d felt your heart deflate a bit when he walked in.

Signing, you blamed it on the bad break up you had two months ago. Deep down, though, you knew that it was more than that. No matter how many years went by, seeing Frankie with someone else always sent the same knife through your gut.

You sipped at your champagne flute, the guys roaring at the television in the other room. A moment of reprieve, that was all you wanted.

In the decade since graduation, your circle had grown, and you were glad for it.

Where you had decided to go to college and get your degree after high school, Frankie and Santi had joined the military. After they’d completed one tour, you’d graduated and they had added Will, Benny, and Tom to the group. Along with some close friends you’d made in college, your friend group had grown from three to about ten. While at times it was overwhelming, you were glad of it at time like these, when you yearned for a moment to yourself.

You leaned onto the entry of the kitchen, observing the scene before you in the living room.

Benny and your friend from college, Regina were arguing over something sports-related, while Will was talking to Tom on the couch, a flimsy cardboard headband that said “2010!” on his blond head. You snorted at the sight.

Standing in the middle of the room wrapped in each other’s arms were Frankie and his new girlfriend, Andrea.

They looked happy. Truly, genuinely, happy, which made you feel even more guilty for hating the sight of them together.

You pursed your lips and took another gulp of your champagne. The bubbly, gold stained liquid tasted bitter on your tongue.

“Well, if that isn’t the most pathetic thing I’ve seen all year.” Santi’s voice came from your left.

You suppressed the need to roll your eyes.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” you drawled dryly.

“Mmhm,” Santi said, sipping from his own glass. “I thought you said that you were gonna finally tell him.”

You sighed.

So we’re doing this.

Frankie might have been your oldest friend, but Santi knew how to push you like no one else did.

A little before graduation, he’d questioned you about your crush on Frankie and you caved. You told him everything, and it felt so good to get it off of your chest. Since then, though, Santi had never ceased to bug you about it. Recently though, since your break-up, it had gotten worse.

“I was,” you replied. “But, in case you haven’t noticed, he has a date tonight.”

“They’ve been together for a week, tops.” Santi dead-panned. “You’ve loved him for, like, fifteen years—“

You shushed him, smacking his arm.

“—ow! Okay! Okay! I’m just saying. It’s a new decade. New year, new me and all that.”

You snorted.

“You don’t actually believe that.”

“Says who?”

“Says you,” you poked him. “Since we were fifteen.”

“Well, maybe I’ve changed my mind.”

“You wanna know what I think?” You turned to him.

“What’s that?”

“That you just like to annoy me.”

“That is also true,” he clinked his glass with yours. “But, not the case here. Last year, your resolution was to finally tell him. Now is your chance.”

“I don’t think so, Pope.”

He made a disgusted face.

“Ugh, it’s so weird when you call me that.”

You laughed, chest feeling lighter already.

“Hmm, maybe Benny will be my new years kiss.” You sipped your champagne.

“Oh god, that would be the worst.” Santi laughed. “The only thing worse than the two of you separate is the two of you together.”

You laughed, looking back to a flushed Benny still arguing with Regina. You smiled. Benny was a joy, the true heart of the group. All golden hair, mischievous smirks, and wide eyes.

Your eyes drifted to Frankie and your smile fell. He was smiling, and a bit tipsy is the blush on his cheeks told you anything, whispering in Andrea’s ear. Your heart stuttered.

Beside you, Santi breathed your name, his hand finding yours. You sniffed, ripping your eyes away from them.

“Mhm?” You responded, looking over at Santi.

His brown eyes held tenderness, something that you would almost call pity. You plastered a smile on your face.

“Do you ever get tired of it?”

“What? Of your endless prodding?”

“Ha, ha,” he said with no humor. “I mean,” he paused, and you braced yourself.

This was just like Santi, starting a deep conversation casually.

“What?”

“How do you do it?” He asked.

Your brows furrowed.

“Love him in secret,” he clarified.

You chuckled humorlessly, all lightheartedness drained from the conversation.

“I guess I’m just used to it,” you said, running a finger over the rim of your glass.

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” he said. You closed your eyes frustratedly. He always knew when you were bullshitting. He could see right through you, and now was no exception.

“Okay, fine,” you turned to him. “I couldn’t give him peace.”

“Wha—“

“If I told him, he’d say yes with no questions asked.”

“I’m glad we see eye to eye, now—“

“No, Santi.” You all but snapped. “He would do it to make me happy. That’s just who he is. It doesn’t matter whether he felt the same or not. I wouldn’t do that to him.”

“And how do you know he doesn’t feel the same way?”

“I just do,” you sighed, eyes finding your too-kind best friend. “He’s restless, he always has been. He needs something… I don’t know. Something different. Not me.”

Santi contemplated for a minute, before sighing.

“I think you’re both idiots.” He said with finality. “Frankie’s looking for something, you’re right, but he’s not gonna find it in the army or in traveling or in that girl’s pants.”

You blanched at his bluntness.

“And you,” he continued. “Need to buck up and tell him. Because before you know it, he will be settled down and it will be too late.”

You didn’t say anything, you were too busy deciding whether to be offended by what he said or not.

“Now,” Santi came to stand in front of you. “I’m going to go drink with our friends and ring in the new decade. Don’t stay here for too long.”

He gave you a too-tight hug before sauntering off.

You remained silent as he walked away.

That new year, at midnight as the ball dropped, Santi and Benny pressed sloppy kisses to your cheeks on either side while Frankie embraced his girlfriend. And though you were surrounded by love and laughter and friends, you couldn’t have felt more empty.

- -

2019

Your ass hurt.

You’d been sitting in this uncomfortable airport terminal for going on five hours, watching families reuniting and workers coming and going, and you were tired.

You rubbed at your bleary eyes, the fluorescent lights making them sore. You weren’t sure how much longer you could do this.

You’d woken up from your post-work nap to your phone ringing at full volume. From the ringtone, you could tell already that it was Frankie. Your heart had skipped a beat before you frantically answered the call.

He had been out of the country with Santi, (something that was never good news), at an undisclosed location for more than a week without checking in. And because what they did was highly illegal, there was no one you could call when the day they were supposed to return came and went. No missing persons reports. You’d been suffering in silence for more than three days when your phone had finally rung.

Frankie had told you that he’d be returning alone, separately from the others, and that he needed you to pick him up.

That was supposed to be three hours ago, and still he hadn’t showed.

You tapped your foot for a few minutes, eyeing the clock. It was close to midnight.

You grabbed your empty coffee cup, thanking whatever god was listening that the welcome kiosk was open 24-hours.

As you filled up the paper cup (it must’ve been your fourth cup of the night), you felt your phone buzz in your pocket.

You scrambled to open it, hoping for word from Frankie or one of the others.

Anything yet? The text read.

It was from Frankie’s mother, Belen. You sighed, typing a quick “no” before returning to your coffee.

After a three-year span where you’d lived in New York, you’d moved home when Frankie and Camille had split. He had full custody of their six-month old, Valentina, and needed some support. Of course, you’d gone without a thought. That was a year ago.

With your new job, though, Val was with her grandma while Frankie was on his little “trip.”

Much to Santi’s chagrin, you still had yet to tell Frankie your true feelings. And you were finally learning to be content with that.

Jobs, significant others, and living situations came and went, but you and Frankie were forever. Nothing would change that, even your own feelings for him.

Besides, a day ago you weren’t even sure if he was alive, now you would take whatever you could get.

You jumped as the baggage claim carousel creaked to life behind you.

Your heart leapt. That meant… Frankie.

You turned on your heel, speed-walking to the hallway where the new-arrivals entered from.

People began filing through, all bleary-eyed and tired. You watched them pass, growing more and more antsy until your eyes caught one familiar Standard Oil cap in the crowd.

Your eyes found his, and for a moment the earth stood still.

His eyebrows drew together, before he let out what looked like a deep breath, and you both raced for each other.

You collided, and you would’ve lost your footing had it not been for his arms bracketed around you like steel.

He gasped into your shoulder, shuddering when one of your hands found his hair, and the other grabbed at his waist. You sobbed out a breath.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you breathed into the side of his head, holding him as if he would disappear any minute.

He breathed heavily into your shoulder, hunched over you, squeezing you just as tightly.

“You—“ you began, before he was pulling back.

His hands found your cheeks, holding either of them up to force your gaze to him.

His eyes looked almost crazed, yet relieved as they gazed into yours.

“I love you,” he breathed out, stealing the air from your chest.

Your eyebrows barely had time to raise before his lips were on yours.

If the first kiss you’d shared nearly twenty years before was passionate, then this was feverish.

There was nothing soft about the way Frankie kissed you. It invaded your senses, and you waited a moment before responding and pressing your lips against his with equal force.

You grabbed at him anywhere you could find purchase, wanting to savor this moment every way you could.

One of his hands slid back into your hair, holding the back of your head. His tongue pushed against yours languidly, and you pushed back.

By the time he pulled back, your hands were on his cheeks. You pressed smaller, chaste kisses to his lips as he caught his breath.

“I love you,” you whispered back. His shoulders sagged a bit.

“I’m such an idiot,” he lamented, forehead against yours. “You don’t have to say it back, baby, I just, I thought I was gonna die out there and I needed you to know—“

“Frankie, Frankie, Frankie,” you forced his gaze to yours and all you found was insecurity. The same kind that you saw all those years ago on the roof.

“Frank,” you giggled breathlessly, nudging your nose with his. “I’ve been in love with you since high school.”

“Wha—What?” He sounded genuinely disbelieving.

You sighed, eyes locked with his. You nodded.

“Since we were fifteen.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” His voice was straining, like he was getting choked up.

You brushed his cheek fondly.

“I guess you’re not the only idiot.” You dead panned.

And maybe it was the sleep-depravity, or the trauma of that god-awful trip, or your awful work day, but either way: right then, you and Frankie erupted in a fit of laughter, right there in the airport terminal.

He threw his head back and laughed so deeply that it sounded like it came from deep in his chest. You followed, (you could never not laugh with Frankie; his joy was contagious), and soon you were doubled over with sore-sides from laughter. And all was right in the world, if only for a moment.

After you’d calmed down, Frankie, cheeks rosy, grabbed your hand and asked,

“Take me home?”

“About time.” You answered

[lmelodie]

Lucy Headcanons

Because I can and because she's a peach

She has a million and one nonsense bumper/car stickers, ranging from cute to cursed.

For one Halloween she couldn't decide between being all three Mario princesses at once. Charlie had to be the one to choose for her and she went as Peach.

Her Favorite type of french fry is the potato smiles! The ones shaped like little happy faces.

She really likes romance/drama tv shows. ESPECIALLY the hospital romance ones. Medical dramas with romantic overtones between two pining doctors have her in a CHOKE HOLD.

If Steven Universe collects mom figures, Lucy Miller collects uncle figures. An disgruntled, emotionally constipated older man anywhere in her vicinity is just an uncle she hasn't met yet.

She loves novelty shaped bags! Backpacks or purses that are shaped like lemons or ghosts is her whole vibe. She loves a quirky bag and owns many that are shaped like different objects. She probably has one for every possible occasion/season/holiday.

She's very creeped out by centipedes. Can't stand how many legs those things have and thinks it was gods mistake for them to exists like that.

Genuinely cannot decide what her favorite season is. She sees and apricates the merit of all four and doesn't think any of them are better than the other. Jack has tried convincing her to root for team winter, but it hasn't worked so far.

She's a big fan of novelty flavors for food also. The stuff that's real gimmicky to sell a quick buck for the strangeness of it, but she tries just about any weird, flavored thing for the experience.

She likes the sheer number of different KitKat flavors they got in Japan; she's tasted a lot of different cereals over the years, and she's actually a pretty big fan of sugar cookie popcorn.

(She would've been ALL OVER the Starbucks unicorn frappuccino thing that happened.)

She ends up going into the psychology field as an adult. She finds people very interesting and likes getting inside their heads to see how they work. Neil is very happy about this, and Laura and Charlie are only a little put off by being psychoanalyzed from two angles now.

She is a SELF CARE QUEEN! Will advocate for self-care until the day she dies! She recognizes that it doesn't solve all your problems but is a die-hard believer in the power of a warm drink and an even warmer bath.

Some other hobbies that she will eventually grow into are as follows:

She gets into yoga when she's older. Does Tai Chi with Mother Nature on occasion.

Learned the basics of archery from Cupid at some point and has kept up with the skill after he pointed out that she should learn to use and actual weapon instead of using the nearest object to bludgeon someone with.

She has matching star shaped sunglasses with Jack. Hers are pink and yellow and his are blue.

After she moves out, she gets takes a gap year and travels the world. Goes to a few different places in Europe.

When she ends up getting her own home, she puts a hammock both inside and outside. Jack has claimed both of them as his own.

Her star sign is Cancer :)

Her favorite Ghibli movie is The Secret World of Arrietty.

Adamantly watches Bee and Puppycat.

She has an account for just about every social media app, including Tumblr. She has a specific tag for things that remind her of Jack (#popsicleman)

[buzzdixonwriter]

Consumed By Consumerism

Let’s talk about growth: Compare and contrast a garden with cancer.

A garden follows an orderly plan.  Not super-orderly to the point of being machine-like, but orderly enough to strive to produce the best possible results.

Despite appearances, a garden doesn’t grow wildly, not if it is to thrive.  Gardeners carefully plant their crops, water them, pluck weeds, trim and prune the plants as needed, eliminate any pests that attack their crop, and in the end enjoy a bountiful harvest.

Done right, a carefully tended garden produces ample food for your own table and perhaps enough surplus to trade for things you don’t have.

Sometimes you don’t even make a trade: “Here, I have too much squash, I can’t eat it all.  Take some.”

Cancer grows uncontrollably and kills you.

Oh, not always quickly, but if you let it grow unmonitored, well, the outcome is not pleasant.

“Not pleasant…”  That’s a piss poor euphemism

Howzabout the outcome is demeaning, demoralizing, degrading, deplorable death?

Got a better picture now?

Good.

Capitalism can be a garden…

…or it can be a cancer.

When it’s a garden, each element gets its own chance to flourish and prosper. 

It can accomplish great things and benefit many -- provided it stays regulated.

A cancer just starts growing and eating and consuming, interested only in getting bigger at its host’s expense.

A garden can last forever; indeed we have gardens around the world that are centuries old.

A cancer can only be killed or it will kill its host.

American capitalism is a cancer based on the myth of the ever expanding frontier.

Instead of striving for a more balanced society where all can benefit, it focuses on infecting the cells of that society (i.e., you and me, folks) and luring them to their own destruction.

Even a seemingly benign analogy -- “Space!  The final frontier!” -- implies resources so vast we need never worry about squandering them…

…yet paradoxically we as a society allow the vast resources we ///do/// possess to be denied to those who need them the most.

Capitalism in any form is set up to funnel money and resources (i.e., capital) into the hands of a small, self-select few.

Again, properly regulated, this is not a problem.

People invest time / money / labor into work intended to produce enough surplus value that it can be traded for more capital, or for products the investors / workers can’t provide for themselves.

There’s nothing inherently unfair / unethical / illegal / immoral / or fattening about that.

The problem lies in those with access to large amounts of capital deciding unilaterally that the best interests of society are served by making sure they get even more capital.

A circular argument, no?

To that end they use the economics of scarcity to drive prices up, and to guarantee a steady demand for scare product, relentless advertising / marketing / promotional campaigns designed to overcome consumer hesitation.

Unlike a garden, where decisions are reached in regard as to how to best manage the available resources, American capitalism is never satisfied with a steady state of affairs that provides enough surplus to sustain the lives and homes of those employed from head office down to factory floor while meeting all other business needs such as plant maintenance and research & development, but rather an ever increasing slice of the pie, either destroying or absorbing all competition until a tiny handful of trusts and mega-corporations exert grossly undue influence over the societies and communities that make their financial success possible.

To expand markets, they constantly introduce novelty disguised as “innovation” or “improvement” in an effort to suck more capital out of the pockets and purses of consumers by using their huge advertising and marketing budgets to convince consumers to go further and further into debt in order to prop up their shareholders already grossly inflated dividends or their managements even more grotesquely inflated bonus -- all of which are derived from “expanding” their market share regardless of the damage it does to either consumers or the long term health of the corporation!

They’ve bought politicians and judges, using them to reduce regulations that prevent them from preying unfairly on consumers and workers.

There is nothing inherently evil about capitalism, but neither is there anything virtuous about it.

It’s a system that can work, but like a draft horse, it needs to be put in harness and controlled for the good of all, not just the spoiled brat who wants to jump on and play cowboy.

Full disclosure: I wrote for G.I. Joe and Transformers and a bevy of other toy based programs and while most of my producers encouraged us to be the best writers we could possibly be, the truth is they wanted to peddle toys to kids and those shows were 30 minute commercials.

I’m proud of the quality of work I did on those shows -- but I recognize I can’t separate outcome from intent.

That’s what we did with G.I. Joe and Transformers.

While children both want and need to play in order to grow up fully human and humane, we used multi-million dollar advertising campaigns to convince them G.I. Joe and Transformers (and Jem and My Little Pony, let’s not leave them out) were the specific playthings they wanted.

And mind you, this is a relatively innocuous example, but it does illustrate my point:   There is no genuine freedom of choice, no actual free market, when a small number of people possess complete dominance over the choices the market presents.

Now, it’s fair to ask “What’s the big deal when it comes to kids’ toys and TV?”

Truth be told, there is a strong argument against it, one based on the concept of local TV and radio stations being community assets, not multi-national corporate assets, but we’ll stick to the specific point of toys.

If Hasbro and Geppetto (to use a fictional example) are in the same business (i.e., making toys), and Geppetto serves his neighbors by making toys for them, how is his community helped by an out of town corporation overpowering his market share?

‘Cuz that’s exactly the same thing that happened when Wal-Mart steamrolled over literally tens of thousands of privately owned mom & pop businesses, wiping them out through economies of scale they could not hope to duplicate, and despite offering lower prices, sucking local capital out instead of plowing it back in the communities the way the mom & pops did.

“Caveat emptor” you say?

That’s a damned irresponsible and sociopathic response when you consider the big multi-national corporations funnel enormous amounts of capital into the campaigns of political stooges who then vote to undermine public schools and fiscal accountability.

I can’t locate the quote readily, but it’s been observed that freedom of speech and equality under the law means little if all you are afforded is a soapbox while the opposition has a loudspeaker. Those who think this is fair and just and equitable are either (a) the same people willing to send tens of thousands of their fellow citizens to long, lingering, terrifying deaths in order to keep their own profit margins high, or (b) people who like to pretend they will be part of the (a) group some day.

The 1% in all their various guises -- Old South plantation owners, Gilded Age robber barons, 1920s stock brokers, 1930s industrialist -- constantly chip away at and erode the foundation of the middle classes, despite the fact that strong middle classes produce stable and prolific cultures

 © Buzz Dixon

[beachesgetpeaches]

man I truly think we fucked up with all the "popular" technological advancement but at the same time we managed to get to a point where we should know that we need to step back. go back.

I mean look at idk reusable pads. this is not a new thing, it is just a similar principle to clean cloth and gauzes our grandmothers would do but done better. so we advance to realise the initial concept was good enough. (like I honestly will not touch a reusable pad ever, and I adore my menstrual cup which tbh is a novelty).

I don't know why everything today comes in plastic but it does and my assumption based on conversations I've had with people is that it's just.. profit? and to top it off we as a society consume so much. so fucking much. we don't need to consume so much.

you don't need a new pair of sneakers. or shoes to go with that outfit. you don't need a new dress for every wedding or event you are invited to. you don't need a new purse to work with that outfit, and even if none that you have work I am sure someone in your close circle has one which works.

not to mention that our incessant consumption of goods and everything is just setting the deadlines for how quickly we need to deliver value. how quickly new content to consume needs to be churned out. how quickly and senselessly resources are spent and wasted and depleted.

what is the point of a new iphone every year? in multiple different variations? and not to shit only on apple but this is true for most tech companies. why are all of your laptop component soldered? and why do we still buy this shit with a promise of tiny improvements...

idk I may be wrong but every single time we purchase something thats new but unnecessary, a new trend that will become obsolete in about three months... we contribute to the failure of society. we contribute to the fall of us. we stab ourselves in the back I think?

and I say this as a person working in a specific industry that has been faced with deadlines which make no sense. as a person who was part of a strategic discussion on four day work week and one of key troubles for deploying a proper one was deadlines. where do the fucking deadlines come from? how do these mega companies (and we have one of these as a client) set their deadlines? when will they put out a new product? who dictates that?

us, hopefully.

because if phone sales drop this year they might fuck around with software and make some older versions obsolete by next year but if you refuse to buy a new phone and go for a used one that's perfectly functional then that fucks them too. i cannot imagine how many functioning phones there are just wasting away in some drawers (ive got two, both will be given away to family members who need an upgrade; but if I have two which used to be my work phones so imagine how many there are... perfectly functional wasting away).

anyway. everything and everyone and everywhere is being consumed so quickly and senselessly... and the only thing we are doing is fucking ourselves. and I know I know rich people will still buy ut blah blah... how many are there? how many rich people vs how many in still somewhat existing middle class? and even if you are someone who is well-off... this is on you as well. this is pretty much on everyone who cares about not working until the day we all drop dead or smth.

[curran74waters]

hermes mini kelly 15

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The weight of what's contained in the bag is positioned solely on the turnlock though, so it’s not a great concept to do that regularly if you are carrying a regular-sized Kelly by the handle. Find a wide range of vintage Hermès handbags, day clothes, shoes and more on 1stDibs. Princess Grace has been depicted by many pop artists, including Andy Warhol and James Gill. Warhol made a portrait of her for the Institute of Contemporary Art, Philadelphia as a restricted edition silkscreen in 1984. Kelly played the function of Bing Crosby's long-suffering spouse, Georgie Elgin, in The Country Girl , after a pregnant Jennifer Jones bowed out. Already conversant in the play, Kelly was highly interested within the half. Hermès Kelly 32 leather purse, “never worn,” £8,950, obtainable at Vestiairecollective.com. When buying a model new Hermès type, it’s best to succeed in out on to shops and boutiques, who will assist your search. Be patient – you would possibly wait months or years for the right type to turn into available. Hermès Birkin 25 leather-based handbag, “never worn,” £16,899, out there at Vestiairecollective.com. Well, some women love the thought of stacking bracelets, and you can’t exactly do this with the KDT in case you have a particularly small wrist. The Mini Kelly Bracelet additionally forms a smaller ‘X’ when worn, providing you with an additional alternative to stack one other bracelet with out trying overly chunky. Mid-sized, however super technical, Kelly seized a 9 for his efforts. https://phoenet.tw/replicas-hermes-bags/mini-kelly-bag.html Photo by Brent Bielmann/World Surf League)​​The boys found another split peak, this time with out crossing paths. Kelly got here unstuck on the exit, and Miggy’s wave went fat but let him squeak out the end. The Brazilian backed it up with a really dramatic drop at Pipe, however he wasn’t quite deep sufficient.

[dempsey46linde]

hermes mini kelly 5

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[father-time-and-baby-new-year]

rhinestone eyes

PAIRING: Rich Boy!Eren x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS [present+future]: infidelity, dubcon, gaslighting, manipulative and toxic behavior, toxic relationship, sexual content, yandere tendencies, suggestive hand-holding

part one

kofi

There's a sneer on Eren's face as green eyes behind Versace aviators glide over your form, staring you up and down. His gaze is so penetrative, it makes your teeth chatter. Maybe he was just checking you out. Maybe he was scrutinizing every blemish.

You suddenly feel so very small in your tennis skirt, the tight collared shirt stretching over your breasts, and wished that today out of all days wasn't when you decided to dress a little more stylish.

"Fancy seeing you here." His voice is nonchalant but there's a tone of humor that accompanies his brisk words. How long would it be until he laughs at you?

He scowls, "Are you mute or something? Why aren't you greeting me back properly?"

"Eren," You took a deep breath, "What are you doing in Paris?"

It occurs to you that you've never seen him out of his uniform before. He's wearing a light blue button-down, half the buttons left unfastened, polo shorts, an expensive black watch glittering on his wrist, silver rings on his slender fingers, and a thin silver chain dangling around his neck.

He's also acquired a new piercing, industrial, judging by the bar across his ear. The silver glints harshly under the sun.

"Are you done burning holes through me?"

You blush, embarrassment coloring your cheeks: "No, I'm just surprised." You tucked a loose lock of hair behind your ear, "Didn't expect to run into anyone I knew in another country."

You were just taking a pleasant walk in the acclaimed Champs-Élysées, the avenue every bit as a picture-perfect postcard as it had been described.

"Have you eaten?" The question is spoken with a sigh like he couldn't believe he was asking you this, and you couldn't either.

"Oh, um, no?" You responded, bewildered.

He runs a hand through his dark hair, which reached the nape of his neck by now: "I know a cafe around here. Let's get brunch. We'll talk there."

You don't know what possessed you to nod but you did so, trying to match his quick and long strides. The walk was silent, presumably because the two of you were saving your burning questions for the cafe.

He rolls his eyes when you stutter through your French. He raises a hand, and simply tells the waiter his order and dismisses him. His French is flawless and you're tempted to ask him how it's so good, but you already know the answer. Probably had hordes of tutors to help him.

Merci Monsieur

"Wait," You remark to Eren, "I didn't order."

"I ordered for us. Pain au chocolate, savory crepes, eggs, and ham. Coffee after. For me. Hot chocolate for you because you don't drink coffee."

Oh. That actually sounds good. How did he know your beverage preferences?

He fishes out a cigarette from his pocket, skinny and hand-rolled, "So what are you doing here? No offense but you don't exactly seem like you can afford a vacation to France. "

Now is your turn to sigh. You've nearly forgotten how blunt he could be: "Here on an internship. For art" You supply.

"I assume you just regularly come to Paris every summer?"

He doesn't deny or verify your statement, "Something like that."

"So you're staying at a hostel or?" He asks, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke that makes your nose wrinkle.

The waiter comes by with food, and you turn to Eren with a sour look, "I sincerely hope you're not going to smoke while we're eating."

To your utter surprise, he ashes the cigarette. You were expecting a witty and mean retort at the very minimum, not silent compliance.

You pick up the earlier conversation, "Well, I'm actually staying with my boyfriend." You mummer the last word quietly but the viridian-eyed boy's ears are keen. You don't notice how his grip on the knife tightens.

"You're staying with your boyfriend?" He repeats.

You nod, "Yeah, he's an art student too."

The rest of the meal is completed in sparing small-talk and lengths of silence. But it's not awkward. It's weird. On one hand, having brunch with Eren Yeager in fucking Paris, heir to a billionaire pharmaceutical company should feel surreal, but it's strangely peaceful. You feel more at peace sitting across from him in France than you did when he sat next to you in homeroom.

When it's time to pay the check, Eren looks amused by the very notion of you digging into your purse.

"What kind of gentleman would I be if I let the lady pay?" His words are spoken with a teasing smile.

You roll your eyes but can't help a glimmer of a smile from peeking through on your lips, "Didn't take you much for a gentleman."

He tosses his black card on the bill, "You'd be surprised."

What's there left to do now? Is it time to part ways? There's a part of you that craves more but life has taught you to not be greedy when you already have so so much.

You dabble the corner of your lips with a napkin, "Well, this has been fun-"

"Wait, uh, do you wanna check out the Louvre? Since you're an art student and all, you might uh enjoy it."

You stare at him. Is he tongue-tied?

"You've probably there been a million times already."

"Yeah...but you haven't been, right?"

You blink before breaking into a smile that Eren is sure is going to give him heart palpations, so sunny and bright.

"I would love to!"

You guys check out Mona Lisa for the sheer novelty, and you're bouncing around the museum, oohing and ahhing at the chiseled statues and Renaissance paintings. There is so much history here, it blows your mind.

Eren finds himself watching you more than the paintings. You have this veneer of snark that you wrap around yourself like a protective gauze (maybe that's how you maintain your survival in a world of hyenas) but you're different now.

You're yourself. Watching you here come alive in unbridled enthusiasm, eyes widened in passion, makes him reach out to his pocket and fish for his disposable film camera. He doesn't know if he's ever seen anyone in his vapid life look like the way you do, so filled with a zest for things that are greater than themselves.

He wants to burn you into his memory, praying to all the gods that you won't notice when he takes a picture of you admiring a bust of a goddess. He slyly tucks his camera back into his pocket.

The world seems to stand still when you tug his hand to show him a painting, an expression of unadulterated wonder on your face. But when you realize you pulled his hand, you immediately drop it like hot coals.

Why do you look so worried? Why do you look so scared?

"You can hold my hand if you want. It's-it's okay." He can't believe he's gotten the words out.

You're taking too long, your hands still hanging limply by your side, an indiscernible expression on your pretty face. Eren doesn't understand why it makes him so mad, why your sudden hesitation grated his nerves. Deciding to make your choice for you, he grabs your hand, squeezing your palm as he flashes you the charismatic smile that's got him out of countless incidents.

He doesn't like the expression of worry marring your features. Where did the happy jovial girl go? Just a few seconds, you were poking him with sparkles in your eyes, "Look at this Eren!" and "So beautiful, right?"

He forces another smile: "Show me the painting you wanted me to see." Maybe it was meant to be a request but it comes out as a demand.

You cast a glance at your joined hands, his grip borderline painful. "O-okay."

You lead him across the floor, and Eren can feel the stares of people around him. They are smiling. An older woman utters a "Un si charmant couple."

You take him to a grand painting. It's haunting and dark, swirling with so many shades of dusty red from vermillion to scarlet. A pregnant woman lies reclined, arm hanging and head lolling. She appears to be asleep, and there is a cacophony of men around her portrayed in varying degrees of stress.

"Death of a virgin", you breathed.

Such a macabre name, Eren thought as he gazed longer into the painting. He loosens his grip on your hand, testing whether you would pull away.

You don't.

It's raining outside and you're giggling.

"Fuck" Eren swears, "I'll call a cab."

You're a vision drenched in rain. Your clothes are soaked, and he could see the outline of your bra from your thin shirt. But it seems like you don't even care.

"Let's just enjoy it!" You cry out. There are thick droplets stuck in between your eyelashes, and you smell like rain too. It's dangerous, he can see chords of purple lightning flash the sky, thunder booming, and it's like you're dancing, the way you move so effortlessly.

You hook his hands in yours, "Doesn't this feel good?"

He feels like all his sins are being washed away, all the impurities and muck that clung onto him after nineteen years of existence. His heart nearly jumps out of his throat every time he looks at you.

He cups your chin and kisses you. When he feels the threadbare resistance, he kisses harsher, tongue and teeth swallowing your protests, coaxing your mouth open with a skillful pinch to your nipple. He pulls away just before you feel like all your breath has been robbed.

You're stunned speechless, "Eren...I...h-have a boyf-"

He kisses you again. And this time you kiss back, holding nothing back.

taglist: @candy-hime @cinnamon-n-roses @forwardpair

inspo: @candy-hime's rich boy!shoto. the iconic golf club one <3

[himbo-beel]

Leviathan and Ace MC

“Pick whatever you want while I get this set up,” Levi said with his back turned to me, though I didn’t mind much when my own back was turned to him. While he switched connections from his desktops to his consoles arranged on, over, and below his desks, there were still half a room’s worth of games and dvds I could explore the titles of. 

It had taken some time - both to get Levi to let me into his room and to go through his extensive collection of anime and rpgs - but we were slowly closing ranks. We’d watched series ranging from old classics to streams of airing episodes and played games made in the Devildom, Human World, and the lesser known games from the Celestial Realm. Surprising as it was they even made games up there, the novelty of it quickly wore off with its less than interesting plot and cheesy characters.

Something else was quickly wearing off, too, or maybe it was more like was piling up as I skimmed through the shelves for something the two of us could play. 

While there was an array of different games and movies and series throughout Levi’s room, most, if not all of them, were of a certain genre. Romance. Romantic comedies. Slice of life. Dating sims. Even the rpgs had hints of dating elements, I noticed, flipping to the back cover of a game with an interesting name. I was aware that Levi enjoyed these, but I hadn’t thought it was to this extent. From the way he talked about the ones he regularly played, I’d been more than a little excited to go through action and sci-fi and, maybe if we kept the lights on, a little bit of horror. 

“Hey, Levi-”

“You find something you like?” His head popped back out from under his desk and he stood up, done connecting everything for our next game session. He took the game from my hand to turn it in his hands. “You want to play this one? This one isn’t just for everyone, you know. Once you get past the tutorial stage everything gets a lot harder - like a lot harder. Just the first boss has this move that can wipe everyone out because it-”

“Wait, wait if you tell me how the game goes I won’t be surprised, right?” Levi’s brows furrowed at he dropped his eyes to the floor, scuffing a heel against it as he nodded. “Actually, wait, that’s not what I wanted to say.” I wanted to reach out to him to comfort him along with my words. I did really want to play with him, but there was something I really had to ask him, too. It was only a matter of choosing my words more carefully. “How does hitting characters with, um, love rays, get harder?”

He picked his head up and I tried to give him a smile. 

“You see, the girls you have to hit run a lot faster in the higher levels. And your ammo stay the same so you don’t have as many chances to miss. Plus, it can get really distracting because they can-”

“Okay, okay,” I interrupted, hoping the smile was still on my face. “Remember that I want to try this on my own with too many hints.” But maybe I did want hints. What exactly was this game? Having to shoot half naked people with a love ray to make them stop chasing you? And they had special powers to distract you? I wanted to ask, but the words stuck in my throat. 

Levi was already taking the game back to his desk and I followed after him, hoping to make myself comfortable in the chairs he had set out, but I fidgeted as the loading screen lit up the television. 

“Hey, Levi,” I ventured, and I watched him nod his head in acknowledgment before shifting my gaze back to the screen. I winced. The title display was exactly what I thought it would be like. “Do you only play games like this?”

“No.” His answer came quickly and his attention never wavered as he set up the options. “I have a lot of rhythm games and virtual escape room puzzles. No one else seems to like them much so I thought-”

“We could have been playing escape room puzzles and you’re making me play this?” The exasperation was clear in my voice and I could only cough out an apology as I lost my breath trying to back track. “I don’t mean I don’t want to play this with you! I’d like any game, probably, so long as it meant spending some time with you!”

Levi had finally turned away from the screen and I shut my mouth at the look he gave him. “I thought everyone else liked these kinds of games.” He held up his controller. 

“Well I’m not everyone.” I sat up straighter. “I don’t really like these kinds of games. It’s a little uncomfortable, if I’m being honest.” A lot of uncomfortable, actually, but his furrowed brows and pursed lips made me hesitant to say anything more. 

“Me, too.” He put his controller down and ejected the disk. I didn’t realize I’d been holding a breath until the screen went dark and I felt like I could breath again. “Everyone kept making fun of the games I do play, so I looked up some of the more popular names. All of these,” Levi said, lifting a hand to gesture at the rows of video games that lined the shelves in his room, “are them. How they got to be so popular when they’re much more boring and easy to beat than any of my favorites is beyond me, but, I thought, if I at least had them, people would think I liked them, too, and would stop making fun of how much I play if they thought I was playing these.” He glanced back at me. “But I guess not.”

I laughed and tapped him lightly on the top of his head with my own controller. “I’m still, aren’t I? Wanting to play a game with you? Specifically one of those rhythm or puzzle games?”

“Are you sure? We could watch something instead or-”

“Levi, if you suggest watching one more romance anime I’ll actually leave.”

“No, don’t! We can play a puzzle game!”

[harrypotter-imaginess]

Part 2 Here!

Commission info for a Love Letter from you favorite character here!

- You’re probably someone on his morning routine, or who could easily become apart of his daily routine

- Maybe a friendly barista at a café he’s curious about on the way to the his store

- But I like to think you’re someone that works at the local flower shop

- He catches you on his way to work one morning, choosing to walk that day to stretch his legs

- Apparating is convenient, but if he’s not careful he’ll get out of shape pretty fast.

- He see’s you across the street, watering the plants you keep outside the shop, talking to each of them, a smile across your face as you do

- The morning light hits you just right, the golden glow spreading across your face

- “Well aren’t they quite cute?”

- He starts walking to work everyday from then on

- It’s on the fourth or fifth day you notice him-

- Well really you notice his hair, it’s such a rich red

- A livelier shade than any rose or hibiscus you could grow

- “I bet it’s hair dye.” Your co-worker tells you “you know how these city boys are-“

- Well your store is in the heart of the city, on the Jump Street, sandwiched between a book store and a boutique

- And yeah, most of the guys around here do seem impeccably dressed,

- one of your very handsome regular's who comes in to get flowers for his husband every Tuesday even admitted he has a running bi-monthly appointment at the spa, he gets a spray tan, dye job, eyebrows tweezed, the works.

- “It’s just what I have to do to compete, there’s so many young CEO’s now, you’ve got to keep up appearances.” 

- And you’re sure he’s not the only one

- Still.. you can’t help but believe that a shade of red that vibrant- that beautiful- can’t be from just hair dye

- “Maybe” you mumble, turning your attention to the peony’s

- You wonder if you’ll see him walk by at the end of the day when all the offices close

- But even though you keep your eyes glued to the store front window, he never shows up

- You see him again the next morning, walking across the street

- This time you take a little more of him in

- He’s pretty tall, though you can’t make out much of his build when he’s wearing that rust colored coat

- And a splatter of freckles across his face, almost like constellations

- He’s got a long nose, but it works with his face

- He’s pretty handsome

- What comes next shouldn’t surprise you, but it does

- Perhaps he felt your eyes on him, silently assessing him- studying him

- Because his eyes lift up to meet yours

- They’re the deepest brown you’ve ever seen, especially when the morning light hits them just so

- Oh sh*t, he caught you staring

- Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t.

- Okay, it’s fine

- Just okay- Just play it cool

- So, you pretend like you weren’t just staring at this handsome stranger admiring his features

- And shamelessly offer your best smile and a wave

- To your surprise he grins, smile spreading across his face

- A light pink dusting his face as he waves back

- And so you become waving friends

- Waving to each other every morning

- Which slowly evolves into trading morning greetings

- “How’s your morning going?” He asks from across the street

- Miffed commuters give him disgruntled looks as they walk around him rushing to work, but he stays rooted to the spot

- “It’s alright can’t complain!” You shout back from your spot by the gardenia bush, earning several looks as well

- “How about you?”

- He gives a teasing look to all the angry passerby’s and gives a “so-so” hand motion

- You almost laugh so hard you cry

- This goes on for a few more days, and your co-workers take notice

- “Flirting with the red head (Y/N)? On company time?” Your co-worker mock gasps and you roll your eyes

- “Oh hush, I’m just being friendly to a neighbor.”

- Your co-worker doesn’t look like they’re buying it, but they don’t say anything else

- It’s late in the afternoon when the shop bell rings

- You’re up to your elbows trimming and re-potting the hydrangeas

- You figure one of the others will get

- You hear some footsteps but ignore it, 

- This part is tricky, if you damage any of the roots the plant might not be able to make it

- “Um excuse me, I was wondering if you might help me with something?”

- Ugh, don’t they see you’re in the middle of something

- You’re about to turn around and tell them that customers aren’t supposed to be in back room-

- When you catch a glimmer of vivid red in the corner of your eye

- No that can’t be right, he doesn’t even walk back this way in the afternoon

- Your heart stutters in your chest, face growing hot

- Your crush is getting out of control-

- When you look up, there he is

- His adorable freckles face in all its glory

- Here in the homely, rather dirty, back-plant room at your flower store

- A hesitant smile curled on to his lips

- “I’m sorry, it looks like I’m interrupting, the clerk in the front said you would be back here-“

- Of course they did

- So well what’s he here for?

- Is he here to ask you in a date??

- You might just combust from joy at the thought

- Or maybe he’s here to order a large bouquet for his lover, and the rest of your co-workers think it’s time you get yourself out of this little crush of yours

- The thought fills you with both embarrassment and despair

- Only extreme highs and lows with you, it seems

- “- I’m a business owner a few streets over, and I thought some flowers might add some atmosphere, they said you’re the expert”

- He gives you a boyish grin, his hands shoved into his pockets

- So somewhere in the middle then

- Aright you can work with that

- “Do you have an idea of what kind of flowers you might want?” You’re already moving towards the sink, washing the fertilizer off your arms.

- George blanks, he hasn’t really thought that far

- “Not particularly, do you have any recommendations?”

- You nod, lips pursed as you grab the order form

- “Well what kind of store do you have? Peonys’ and orchids’ are always good with boutiques”

- You figure he owns an upscale boutique or maybe a restaurant, those tend to be the places that do the best in this area.

- And by the looks of his taupe coat, his store is doing very well

- “Hmm well-“ his hand rubs his chin

- Technically it’s a joke shop, but it’s grown to be more than that isn’t it?

- He sells potions, charms, stationary, prank goods (of course), muggle novelty’s- it makes sense to him- but his store has grown to be quite eclectic over the years

- Besides he doubts he can explain it you

- He’s still on the fence whether you’re a muggle or from magic like him

- You’re plants have him suspicious, no way a muggle could grow a gardenia that would put Neville Longbottom to shame-

- Still, if you were a witch there’s no way you wouldn’t have recognized him by now

- The Weasleys have all become some sort of warrior clan war hero, he’s even on a chocolate frog card now.

- Well, he would rather not risk it

- He’s always been the cautious one

- “It’s sort of a hobby store? Well it started out as one, but now we’ve been expanding and we sell a bit of everything.”

- “So kind of like a department store?”

- Department stores are a bit more tricky, each room has a different vibe, but the overall tone has to be neutral

- Hmmmm

- “Maybe some white roses? Orchids might be nice too, and if you’ve got a bit of a green thumb I might recommend succulents or some devils ivy?”

- This is all going straight over George’s head, he never did pay much attention in herbology

- But you’re talking to him as if he’s an equal and he doesn’t want the cutie who works at the local flower shop think any less of him because he doesn’t know a d*mn about plants

- “Those sound lovely”

- He’s not entirely sure how it happens, but by the time he’s left he’s got an armful of plants, and a rolling order at your store to pick up plants every Tuesday

- “Are you sure you’re alright? We deliver for free you know?”

- “No no it’s fine-“

- The tall leafy plant shakes every time he shakes his head

- “Besides I wouldn’t want to miss the chance to see you again” he winks before turning to leave

- You feel your heart skip a beat

- “Did you ask if it was a dye job?” You co-worker yells from the other side of the store as soon as he’s gone

- “Of course I didn’t Ainsley! For one that’s awfully rude”

- They nod knowingly

- “Yeah that’s really fifth date talk”

- They laugh when you throw one of the cards at them

- And like clockwork George comes in every Monday afternoon, and leaves with a handful of arrangements and plants

- You still talk to each other on the street

- “How are the hydrangeas working out for you?” You ask and he gives a ‘ditto’ hand gesture

- “They’re class! I was wondering if I could get a few more?”

- You nod

- “We’ll have more ready for you on Monday, are you sure you don’t want delivery?”

- He manages to carry them off every time, but it sure makes you nervous, just one tumble and they would be ruined

- “We’ve been over this, how would I get to see you then?”

- He gives you a lopsided grin and you find yourself reflecting the expression

- “Oi! Would you two stop flirting in the middle of the street, you’re blocking traffic!” Someone shouts

- He just laughs and offers you a wave

- “What’s with all the plants?”

- They’re the first words out of Ron’s mouth when he steps inside the shop, he’s already shrugging off his coat making his way to where George is fiddling with a new contraption

- “I thought they would make the place livelier”

- False.

- He just wanted an excuse to talk to you.

- He does like the plants though. The white hydrangeas you recommended for the potions section are absolutely lovely

- Though he did use a few charms to make them larger, and stay fresher longer.

- He’s basically got a wall covered in hydrangeas now

- Still lovely though

- “It does look nice” Rob admits

- “So where are the products you need help fixing?”

- George groans waving towards a few oddly stacked boxes

- The packaging on his restock of the portable swamps came in the wrong color, not a big deal he can always change it with a spell

- But it is tedious work, especially when you have to do it one by one, otherwise it might upset the contents.

- And he does not want a swamp in his store

- Ron only nods, unpacking the box

- “You want purple right?”

- There’s a moment of silence between the two

- Purple was Fred’s favorite color

- He used to joke it was because that’s the color Snape turned when he was mad

- But George knows it’s because purple’s the color of the first fireworks they saw.

- He, Fred, Ron and Ginny had snuck away when they were younger to a muggle festival in the village, awestruck by the shapes the fireworks took.

- Fred would have carved that moment into his bones if he could.

- George clears his throat

- “Yeah, purple, same shade as the shop sign”

- Ron nods, pulling out a products wordlessly, motioning with his wand

- “So what’s really the deal with all these plant?” Ron asks, and George sighs

- “Nothing I just thought it might be good for business”

- “Did you get swindled by an attractive salesman?”

- “I wouldn’t say swindled” you gave him a pretty generous discount, and you were even offering free delivery

- That’s kind of a lot to give for a muggle shop

- “So they were attractive then?” Ron says with a grin, he’s only ribbing

- But George’s inquisitive look and the pink flush across his freckles nose makes Ron think he’s on the nose

- “(Y/N)’s fairly attractive”

- Fairly is putting it mildly though, George thinks your adorable

- Ron stutters halfway through the transfiguration spell

- “(Y/N)? Like hot (Y/N)? From the flower shop?”

- George is puzzled but nods

- “You went to hot (Y/N)‘s shop?!?!? WITHOUT ME?” Ron looks like he’s about to cry

- “How would Hermione feel is she heard you talking about another person like that?”

- Ron just gives him an incredulous look

- “She would say ‘I can’t believe George went to hot (Y/N)‘s shop and didn’t invite us’!”

- Apparently you’re quite popular in the shopping district. Your flowers have won the city award twice, before you opened your shop you won a contract as the city’s horticulturist.

- “Last Valentine’s Day Harry and I stood in line for two hours to pick up our bouquets” Ron tells him, he’s already done with the first box

- He figured business was good, it’s almost impossible to run a flower shop in the middle of the city if it isn’t.

- But he didn’t imagine you were award winning or anything

- He sighs so you are a muggle, and you’ve got no need for magic, you make up the difference in talent and skill

- He likes that, maybe he should get some shirts or art prints that say something like that

- He feels a small smile creep onto his face

- Oh well, probably for the best, he’s not sure he has time to date what with how busy things have been

- “Free for dinner? We can go wherever you want, my treat.” George says, slipping on his coat as they finish with the last of the products.

- “How about (Y/N)‘s flower shop?”

- George laughs

- “I’m pretty sure they close at 5....also they don’t have food Ron”

- Ron sighs like he’s just been told Christmas is just cancelled

- “The leaky cauldron is fine too I guess”

- But George can’t stop thinking about you for the rest of the weekend.

- It’s not really that big of a deal if you’re a muggle, but-

- Well how would that even work?

- The closest thing to a muggle he’s personally known is Hermione- who’s a witch and just muggle born

- He wouldn’t be able to tell you about being a wizard- not until you were married, or at least serious enough that he knew you both were going to get married. Which he doesn’t know how he feels about

- So he would have three full time jobs

- Taking care of the store, being your boyfriend, oh and hiding his magical powers from you

- Lovely

- But Merlin- wouldn’t his family love it if he brought you home?

- His Dad would be over the moon, and his Mum, well she’d be happy he found anyone at all. But she wouldn’t mind the pointers you gave her on how to get pinker roses.

- Percy wouldn’t really care either way. He might even like it, a muggle in the family might help his political agenda.

- Good for optics and all

- He already knows Ron likes you

- He and Hermione will be quite pleased they get to ogle you all they want at holiday dinners

- Ginny will like having another person in the family, she would personally give you a tour of the burrow

- Fleur will like having another in law in the family- and Bill will be happy that she’s happy

- Charlie would love it, asking you all about what kind of plants his dragons might like, and if you might plant a few for him, come visit in Romania- the port key’s always open for family-

- Actually he might have to watch out for Charlie, his older brother might legit steal you away from him

- .

- ...

- Fred would have loved you

- Fred would have never let it go on this long

- Fred would have seen George’s lovestruck expression the first time he saw you and said-

- “Well are you going to ask them out?”

- Fred always was the bold one, George was just following his lead most of the time.

- That fireworks thing in their last year was entirely Fred’s idea. 

- George would sputter and shrug in response

- ‘I was just lookin’, a man can look can’t he?’

- Fred would have given him one of his wicked grins and said:

- “Look if you don’t ask them out now, then I will”

- And pushed him across the street, holding him to it

- And then when he was halfway across the street towards you Fred would shout:

- “And see if they’ll give us a friends and family discount for the store!”

- George is grinning just imagining it

- Fred wouldn’t have cared at all that you were a muggle.

- All he would care about is that you would make his brother, his best friend, happy.

- “Honestly George, you get hung up over the dumbest things-“ Fred would have said

- “You like them don’t you? They make you feel good about the world and life?”

- And George would just dumbly nod

- “Then that’s all that matters doesn’t it? That you care about someone, and that you can see a future with them. All that other stuff- it’s just noise”

- Alright he’ll try then

- Not just for Fred, but for himself too.

- George strolls into your shop on Monday, an hour before you open-

- “Oh hello George! You’re a little early, I’ve got your hydrangeas trimmed I just need to get your potted plants ready and-“

- “Would you like to go out sometime?”

- “-then I’ll fix up the roses for y-“

- Huh?

- You freeze for a moment, almost dropping the plant in your hands

- Did he just ask you on a date?

- “If dinner is too much, maybe just tea- or coffee?”

- Maybe it’s not exciting enough for you

- Ugh! He knew he should have suggested something more fun like the zoo or maybe a botanical garden?

- But you’re around plants all day, he didn’t want to make you think he only knows one thing-

- “Friday?”

- His eyes shoot up to look at your face, he hadn’t even noticed he was staring at his shoes

- “What?”

- “Friday” you repeat, you’ve got a smile that seems lovelier than any of the flowers you grow.

- “Is Friday good for dinner? I close up at six”

- He grins so wide he’s afraid his face might break

- “Friday is perfect”

[tinyyoungblood]

the novelty of lines | tom holland

summary: being trapped with your boyfriend in a bookstore can go many different ways. good and not so good. like getting hit on by a stranger. but does that really matter if tom knows exactly what to do?

pairing: tom holland x reader

word count: 2229

warnings: language, fluff

a/n: if this doesn’t get deleted again, i’ll buy everyone ice cream *laughs through the pain* sorry to anyone who might have already come across the first post:/ this is my first submission to @hollandsrecs​​ ‘s 1k bingo writing event! go check out her amazing fic recs! 

* * *

The echo of another thunder bellowed through the streets, making you shudder and lean into Tom for a sense of safety. His hand grazed your waist and you nuzzled yourself further into his body. “You okay?” You looked up to worried brown eyes and nodded once.

“I’ve always thought being stuck in a bookstore could be quite romantic. Turns out it has some Purge potential too.”

His chuckle conjured a small smile on your lips and you felt him trace tiny shapes into your skin. “Well, the rain does add something,” he said and you hummed. Letting go of your waist, you were turned to face him. “How about you go look for that book we came for, and I’ll go check out some new books they got in the back? We can meet in a few and when the storm is over, we can go grab some coffee. Sounds good?”

You nodded affirmatively and the twinkling in your eyes made his heart melt. “Add some baked goods and you got yourself a happy girlfriend.” Pressing a soft kiss on your lips, you both parted ways and with a fuzzy heart, you watched as Tom disappeared behind a shelf before you started your own quest of finding the newest book of your favorite author. Thanks to an abundance of afternoons spent in this place, you naturally navigated toward a table in the middle of the room that most likely contained what you were looking for—and your inner compass didn’t disappoint. It only took a few seconds until your gaze fell on the familiar name and a smile curved around your lips. Picking up the hardcover, you tugged a few strands of hair behind your ear and examined the paperback in awe.

Unbeknownst to you, your little gesture had caught the attention of a guy your age and invited him to come talk to you. It took you by surprise, but he was polite, so you let yourself have an easy five minutes conversation until he started to hit on you.

Tom was just rounding the corner again when he heard a familiar laugh. He immediately recognized your fake laugh and it made him stop in his tracks. Peering around the corner, his eyes landed on a guy chatting you up. Knowing exactly what was going to happen to the poor guy shooting his shot, he leaned against the wall to enjoy the show for a second.

“So what is a pretty thing like you doing here all by herself?” The guy asked with a smirk pestering his lips.

You eyed him and cocked your head to the side. “Where?”

Taken aback, he stared at you for a moment. “Uhm, you know, here.” He laughed awkwardly and Tom smiled to himself.

Acting like the light bulb over your head lit up, you replied, “Oh, you mean in Chicago?”

Tom had to stifle his laugh as the confused guy ran his hand through his hair. The interaction was painful to witness, but it brought up sweet memories. This was exactly what you did when the two of you had first met in London. You were in a coffee shop and Tom was hitting on you, hopefully, a bit smoother though, and in response, you acted slow and dull like you were doing at the moment. Tom, of course, saw right through and called you out on it. He remembered you only laughed and didn’t hesitate to call him out on his crap too, and that was the start of a beautiful friendship. It didn’t take long for you two to start dating after.

But in contrast to Tom, the guy didn’t seem to pick up on your way to cease the conversation and tried his last sprinkles of luck. “S-Sure…Are you here often?” He hinted and once more, you feigned confusion.

“You mean at the bookstore?”

For a second, you swore you saw his spirit left his body. But he was determined to keep going. “Chicago, bookstore, same thing, right?” He let out a forced laugh and you couldn’t help but smile amusedly. You did have to give him some credit for the effort.

“Hmm. I live in Chicago, so yeah.” His eyes lit up and you felt bad for leading him on, thus deciding to end this talk as fast as possible.

“Sweet, so chances are high that we will meet again…right?” He asked suggestively and you decided to top it off with the sweet cherry of obliviousness.

“No silly, I don’t live in the bookstore, so I guess the chances are pretty slim.” Tom’s eyes widened and he had to cup his mouth to silence his laugh. The guy stared at you dumbfounded and you were almost certain he would leave now. To your luck, that was not the case.

“You can always give me your address?” He tried again and that was Tom’s cue to walk up to you. Wrapping an arm around your waist, he gave the baffled guy a meek smile.

“Sorry, pal. She lost the piece of paper that has her address on it.” Glancing to him with wide eyes, you forced a quizzical smile and Tom grinned back broadly. “Ready to go, darling?” You hummed and turned around to walk away. Looking over your shoulder again, you gave the guy an apologetic smile and lifted your shoulder in a shrug before wandering off with Tom.

When you were out of his earshot, you halted and pointed at the prominent smirk on your boyfriend’s face. “You asshole.” He pursed his lips amusedly.

“What a cute pet name.”

“You were listening to our conversation,” you accused and he shrugged.

“Possibly.”

You gasped and narrowed your eyes at him. The corner of your lips, however, quirked up and you had to hit his shoulder in response to his cocked brow. “You could’ve saved me earlier!”

Tom snickered. “But where’s the fun in that, darling?”

Pouting, you turned your back to him and feigned interest in some of the books displayed on the table in front of you. Suddenly, two arms snaked around your waist, and you were pulled backward, prompting you to squeal in surprise. “Tom!”

He whispered into your ear, “Shhh, I’m trying to be a romantic asshole right now.” He dragged you to the very back of the store where he usually spent most of his time, so you genuinely expected him to simply show you a new book he found. Just in his very dramatic own way. When he let you go and you were planted on steady feet again, you whipped around to face him.

“Not cool.” You jabbed your finger into his chest and he rolled his eyes at you.

Pecking your nose, he stepped aside and revealed a big purple velvet blanket placed neatly in the corner of the store. It was covered in mismatched pillows of all colors, and Tom watched carefully as your eyes widened—fairy lights reflecting in them. You stepped forward and picked up one of the two white mugs that carried the soft smell of hot chocolate.  “Did you do this all by yourself?” You asked, your words laced with every inch of surprise you felt at the moment.

He nodded proudly. “Hannah didn’t mind, so I thought, why not make your romantic bookstore dreams come true.” He shrugged casually, but you could see that he was just as excited as you were. “You like it?”

You placed the mug on the ground and faced him. “Do I like—Tom, I love it! This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. I still can’t believe it.” Your eyes were twinkling with joy, resembling a starry night sky, and he couldn’t believe how beautiful you were. Softly pulling you forward, you pressed your lips on his and the sweet taste made his heart flutter. You pressed him closer and closer, fingers threading through his soft curls while his hands roamed your sides. Gently pulling away again, you giggled at the dreamy look on his face and grabbed his hand. Once the two of you were seated on the soft blanket, hidden away from the rest of the store due to the big shelves, you were quick to bring the mug up to your lips to get a taste.

Mirroring your action, a strong swirl of chocolate enveloped Tom’s tongue and spread warmth down his throat. You moaned at the sweetness and let your head fall back. “This is too good.” Tom agreed and picked up the book you were still holding in your hand. Reading through the synopsis on the back, a small smile edged around his lips and you giggled. “Tom, that’s a thriller about a guy who goes on a killing spree. Why are you grinning like a psycho?”

He let out a brief laugh. “I’m not laughing because of the book.” He tossed it on your lap. “I just can’t stop thinking about how you did the exact same thing when we first met. You know, with the acting slow.”

The fact that he remembered made you smile and you lifted your shoulder in a half shrug. “I do it with everybody who hits on me.”

“Like a bit?” He asked curiously and took another sip from his mug.

You cocked your head to the side and thought about it. “Kinda. You really have no other choice when guys come up to you with the dumbest lines. It’s a default setting.”

Feigning offense, he slapped his hand on his chest. “I beg to differ! I did not say a dumb line.”

“Probably not the dumbest line I’ve heard.” You brought the mug up to your lips. “But very dumb nonetheless.” Tom furrowed his brows and pouted at you, making you giggle. “Do you remember what you said?”

His gaze averted to the ground for a second, but he shook his head. “No…But it couldn’t have been any dumber than what he said.” Tom jabbed his thumb over his shoulder and you grinned.

“If only you knew…” you trailed off teasingly and he leaned forward.

“What was it?”

You hummed and shrugged playfully, making him grab your mug and set it aside with his own. “Y/N Y/L/N, tell me how I made a fool of myself the day we met.” You had to bit your bottom lip to cease the smile, but that gave Tom the last push to lean forward and tackle you to the ground, fingers attacking your sides and the sound of your laughter seeped through the quiet bookstore.

“T-Tom! S-stop it—Tom, I mean i-it,” you coaxed out and Tom leaned down to your ear.

“Are you going to tell me what I said to you that day?” Reluctantly, you nodded. His hands left your side and you sat up while the last bits of your hysteria died down. Dramatically wiping away some tears, you shuffled forward and placed your arms on his shoulder to lock your fingers behind his head. His eyes locked with yours and he waited in anticipation as you fought with your lopsided grin. You cleared your throat for suspense.

“On the day we met, you came to my booth, and sat down. Then you looked me straight in the eye and asked me Are you from England? ‘Cause I can really see a queen in you.”

You watched as Tom internally broke down from the crippling cringe. He was blushing madly and the tip of his ears were bloodshot red, making you giggle and press a quick kiss on his warm cheek. When you wanted to pull away, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders to nuzzle his head in the crook of your neck. “I can’t believe I said that,” he mumbled and you laughed.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. It could’ve been way worse.” He leaned back to look at you.

“Oh yeah? How? I can’t see a way to outdo that. It’s really bad, I’m surprised you didn’t die of a stroke that day.”

“Bet. Harrison once came up to me all excited to read me a pickup line he found on Buzzfeed. I think it went My dick is called Big Ben. And you know where you'll find it. And then he just giggled and ran away.”

Tom broke out laughing. At this point, you were sure people must have thought you two were crazy but you didn’t mind. “Oh my god, what did you tell him?” He reached out to your waist as you turned around to lean your back against his chest. His arms wrapped around your figure and you sighed contently.

“Well, he was already halfway across the yard, but I told him afterward that it’s a great line and that he should use it sometime at the pub. I think he actually did.”

Tom’s chest vibrated against your back as the sweet sound of his laughter swept you off the ground. Seeing him this happy was everything to you and you closed your eyes for a second, just to open them again right after to make sure that you weren’t dreaming. Spending an afternoon trapped in a bookstore with your boyfriend during a thunderstorm sounded like it came straight from a novel, but apparently, you lived inside your own novel and within it, you were allowed to dream as much as you wished.

* * *

it’s been a while since my last one shot, so i hope this makes up for it! hope you enjoyed it and if you did, feel free to leave some feedback. thank you as always for reading! have a wonderful day/night peeps <3

taglist: @honeypie-holland​ @himarisolace​​ @duskholland​​ @insidiousslut​​ @siriuslyslyslytherin��​ @hollandsrecs​​ @quaksonhehe​​ @chloecreatesfictions​​ @writertoo18​

[darriness]

Klaine Fic - Title: Except...

Author: darriness

Word Count: ~800

Summary: Blaine's bored

Author's Note: Got a new computer and @darrenismydarcy prompted this fic as the first one I should write on it! So I did! Hope you like it!

AO3 Link

Except...

They’ve been working at home so long that an entire work day can go by and they don’t even really notice each other’s presence in any meaningful way. When they first started working from home, all those months ago, when things were scary and strange, they lost themselves in each other’s arms and bodies like they were teenagers again. It was a coping mechanism as much as it was a novelty. Home all day with only each other? Sure, let’s fuck. A lot.

But as the months wear on, Kurt and Blaine are no less attuned to each other but it’s less of an immediate thing. For a lot of the work day they are in separate rooms. They can hear the other person talking on the phone or typing away on their computer but that alone is usually all they need to feel comforted as they go about their day-to-day tasks.

Except today, Blaine is bored. He’s got no meetings left for the day and he’s caught up on all his paperwork. He’s spun around in his chair enough times to make himself dizzy...twice. He can hear Kurt talking from the other room, his husband had a Zoom meeting that started twenty minutes ago, so he knows wandering over to talk to him isn’t really an option.

Except…

Blaine stops the spin of his chair as an idea pops into his head. He debates with himself for a few moments about whether or not his idea is a good one, and how likely his idea is to get Kurt REALLY mad at him, but in the end he decides to go for it. Idle hands are the devil's plaything after all.

Blaine gets up and slowly makes his way across the hall to Kurt’s office. He walks in, keeping an eye on Kurt out of the corner of his eye as he makes his way to the bookshelf across the room. He notices Kurt look up briefly, give a hint of a smile, but then he’s back to his meeting, nodding to whatever his colleague is saying.

Blaine picks a random book off the shelf, not even paying attention to what book he grabbed, and wanders back out of the room. Once he’s in the hallway, he unceremoniously drops the book and proceeds to pull his shirt over his head. He shakes his hair to settle it back down from the shift taking off his shirt caused, before dropping his shirt on top of the discarded book and making his way back into Kurt’s office.

He tries not to smirk as he makes the same journey from the door to the bookshelf, but this time when Kurt looks up he does a noticeable double take before his eyes are solely on Blaine, tracking him across the room.

Blaine can hear someone talking on the Zoom call and when he turns to face Kurt with an ‘innocent’ smile, his husband looks caught between warring instincts. Blaine tries not to burst out laughing as Kurt tries to almost simultaneously look back at his meeting, nod at his coworker, look at Blaine’s naked chest, and glare at Blaine for the interruption. It looks almost like he’s going in convulsions as he cycles through all of his reactions.

Blaine lifts an eyebrow and just waits. Wondering what Kurt will do next.

Finally, Kurt seems to settle back on his meeting (even though Blaine notices his eyes flicking in Blaine’s direction every few seconds) and he coughs when the woman on the screen stops talking.

“Well, that sounds great, Diane.” Kurt says to the screen and if his voice is a little breathier than normal, Blaine is fairly certain he’s the only one who notices, “I think we all know where to go next. We’ll check in tomorrow.”

Kurt doesn’t even wait for his colleague (or colleagues, Blaine’s not sure how many were present) to respond. He closes his laptop with a snap and turns to Blaine with wide eyes.

“Inappropriate!” He admonishes.

Blaine smirks again, “Whatever do you mean?” He asks.

Kurt rolls his eyes with no heat, “Don’t play innocent. Nothing about that chest and those abs is EVER innocent.”

Blaine shrugs, running a hand down his chest and stomach as Kurt’s eyes track the movement like a hungry tiger, “I was bored.”

“I was in a meeting.” Kurt responds.

“And now you’re not.” Blaine supplies.

Kurt purses his lips and Blaine can tell he doesn’t want to give in. He wants to be mad and not ‘reward’ Blaine’s behaviour but...they both know he’s going to.

“Get over here, you troublemaker.” Kurt says with a smirk.

Blaine bounces slightly on his toes with a happy smile before making his way over to Kurt. Work’s done for the day!

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Good as Gold pt. 3

[part two] | [part four] [prostitute!Jaskier masterpost]

Geralt is nowhere near Hagge. He hasn't even been back that way in weeks, but the first thing he thinks of when the coin purse is pressed into his hand is Jaskier. He's been south of Wyzima for a week now, tracking a forktail that's been killing off the baron's prize horses and now he's been paid royally for it, especially considering the ease with which the beast went down.

He turns from the manor now, leading Roach toward the main road. He's not as glad to leave the city as he usually is, but he is happy to be out on the road again with his path ahead of him and no one to dictate where he goes, but him. And this time he has the coin to last him on the road for some time.

But his mind keeps going back to Hagge. There's an armourer there who charges more than Geralt is usually willing to spend, but he could do with a bit of work - the last few contracts have taken a toll. And there's a particularly friendly barkeep at one of the taverns who will slip Geralt free drinks if he promises not to let the locals start anything. So maybe Hagge is where he should head next. There are plenty of places between here and there where he could reasonably pick up a contract and there's no reason for him not to go to Hagge, after all.

And well, if he stops by the brothel while he's in town, it's been a while and he can spare the extra coin for once.

He doesn't realize just how long it's been until he's standing in the doorway and Jaskier catches his eye from across the room. Geralt's armour is gone, taken to be repaired and he's left in just a thin linen shirt and he should not feel as hot as he does watching Jaskier slip into someone else's space and whisper in their ear. But when he turns just slightly and spots Geralt, he stops dead, a wide smirk spreading across his face. He quickly pulls one of the other courtesans aside and he takes his place as Jaskier saunters across the room.

Without hesitation, he pushes up into Geralt's space, running his hands up his chest and letting the fabric bunch under his fingers.

"I like this," he hums. Geralt just scoffs, but Jaskier's fingers slip over his nipple and his breath catches. "Are you staying?" Jaskier asks.

"Yes."

"Good. Come upstairs." Jaskier doesn't hesitate to grab his hand, but Geralt doesn't need any convincing. His cock has already caught up and Jaskier's enthusiasm is enough to have him swelling in his trousers.

As soon as the door is shut behind them, Geralt is guided into the middle of the room and Jaskier drops to his knees immediately. Geralt doesn't even have a chance to strip his gear from his back before Jaskier's hands are at his waist, skillfully unbuttoning his trousers. He's half-hard already and Jaskier's hands so close to his cock are doing nothing to dampen his arousal. But if anything, Jaskier seems more eager than he is, shoving Geralt’s trousers to the floor and regarding his cock like it's something precious.

Geralt's hips twitch and Jaskier wraps a hand around him, stroking him to full hardness as he tips forward, pressing kisses into Geralt's hips that quickly devolve into licking and biting. Geralt's head swims and he braces himself on Jaskier's shoulders to keep from stumbling forward.

When Jaskier's mouth pulls from his hip, it finds the head of his cock, barely hesitating before sliding over him and moaning around his length. Geralt's fingers dig into his shoulders and he should be more careful because whores don't like to be marked up, but Jaskier seems unfazed. His eyes roll back in his head and his hips jerk forward before he has time to correct himself. But Jaskier just moans again and takes him deeper.

Geralt steadies himself, but one of Jaskier's hands comes up, pressing against his ass and encouraging the roll of his hips and Geralt can't even stop him. And Jaskier just takes everything as he's given it, reaching under him with one hand to cup Geralt's balls in his hand. He rolls them softly between his fingers and Geralt groans and pitches forward as his orgasm overtakes him. His fingers twitch against Jaskier's shoulder and his hips snap forward as he rides through the rush, but then he's left panting and embarrassed.

It shouldn't matter. He's sure Jaskier has seen many men who came too early, who couldn't control themselves, but Geralt still feels bad about it. He's ready to apologize, the words are on his lips, before Jaskier pulls off, giving a final flick of his tongue to Geralt's cock before it drops against his thigh.

"Fuck," Jaskier huffs, "that was hot."

"Been on the road a while," Geralt says by way of explanation, still avoiding Jaskier's gaze. He catches a whiff of arousal as Jaskier rises to his feet.

"Clearly you need to visit me more often," he hums, pressing back into Geralt's space.

"You'd like that?" he asks, trying not to sound hopeful.

"Very much." Jaskier winds his arms around his neck, letting his body move against him. Like this, Geralt can feel his arousal as well as smell it and it stirs something inside him. To keep from letting himself get carried away, he takes a step back, pointedly ignoring the way Jaskier's hands drag down his chest.

"Do you want to come?" he asks and Jaskier smiles seductively at him.

"Are you offering to help?" he asks, "or to watch? Because you know I'm partial to that."

"Up to you," Geralt says offhandedly, tucking himself back into his trousers and buttoning them back up.

"If you insist."

Once Jaskier is naked and kneeling on the end of the bed, Geralt finds he’s not quite as composed as he’d like to be. He's seated on the opposite end, leaning against the wall and all he can think about is tipping forward and wrapping his mouth around Jaskier's cock. He could easily get himself off again that way, stroking himself in time with his mouth on Jaskier's skin. He thinks Jaskier might let him, too; he doesn't seem to be opposed to any of the things Geralt wants to do with him, if anything, he encourages it.

But leaning forward would mean giving up this view of him, knees folded under him, spread wide for Geralt's visual pleasure and his head thrown back. And Geralt isn't inclined to do that. But his cock strains against his trousers, apparently oblivious to the fact that he just came, and his fingers itch to touch.

He sates the need by pressing against his own persistent erection, inhaling sharply at the touch, though the sound is drowned out by a shuddering moan from Jaskier. When he looks back up, he realizes Jaskier is watching him now, his hand moving a little quicker over the length of his cock.

"Come here," Geralt huffs and Jaskier doesn't miss a beat, quickly shuffling forward until he's straddling Geralt's hips.

His breath comes a little quicker, but he doesn't say anything and Geralt reaches for his own trousers, quickly unbuttoning them and tugging his cock free. Jaskier groans at that.

"Gods," he breathes, "how are you already so fucking hard again?"

"Mutations," Geralt grunts, unwilling to elaborate.

Generally, any part of his history isn't up for discussion during sex, but Jaskier asked and he felt obligated to reply honestly. But Jaskier doesn't react the way any of the others would, or have. He gets a look in his eye that normally Geralt would think meant trouble, but he just angles his hips down, sliding his cock against Geralt’s and any thought of conversation is gone.

Geralt’s hands move to Jaskier’s hips, guiding his thrusts to keep them slotted together like this. Jaskier drops his head, panting against Geralt’s shoulder and Geralt reaches down, wrapping a hand around them where they’re joined. It doesn’t take long for Jaskier to come like that, hips grinding down hard and shuddering as he releases.

Geralt runs his hands up his back, feeling the hammer of Jaskier’s heart under his palms as he settles and for a second, Geralt considers staying just like this, but Jaskier shifts and bends to look up at him. He hums at Geralt with intrigue and Geralt quirks an eyebrow at him.

"What?" he asks, shifting to press his hips up with a soft sigh. Jaskier shudders.

"How many times can you come in one day?"

"Don't know. Never thought about it."

"And no one ever thought to try?"

"Didn't care enough, I guess."

Jaskier releases his own cock, slipping his fingers between Geralt's where they're wrapped around him. "Do you want to find out?" he suggests, his lips pulling up in a grin. "You've got me all night and I can't think of anything I'd rather do than watch you come over and over again."

Geralt should say no. He's not a novelty for people to experiment with. But his cock gives a twitch at the mere thought of it and he considers it. If it was anyone but Jaskier, he would turn them down with certainty, but Jaskier has proven to be nothing but kind and patient with him and indulging him has only ever paid off. So after a moments' deliberation, Geralt agrees.

Jaskier backs off, stepping off the bed and wiping himself down with a cloth before holding a hand out to Geralt. Otherwise occupied by the soft smattering of hair on Jaskier's chest, he doesn't realize at first. But Jaskier takes his hand and Geralt lets himself be tugged back into a sitting position.

"You won't want to be dressed for this," Jaskier hums, happily tugging Geralt's shirt from his trousers. "It can get messy."

"Done this before?" Geralt lifts his arms for his shirt to be removed and rises to his feet when Jaskier nudges his thigh.

"A couple of times. I have a customer who likes pushing himself."

Geralt considers that while Jaskier continues undressing him. He's surprisingly more comfortable letting someone peel his clothes off of him than he is thinking about Jaskier with other customers. Which is absurd because he's known all along that he must; no one can get away with charging so much if they don't have experience. He pushes the odd discomfort down and rises to step out of his trousers as Jaskier gets them to the floor.

Once he's fully naked, Jaskier guides him back onto the bed. Geralt lays on his back, turning onto his side as he watches Jaskier move around the room, collecting things. When he returns, he lays everything out next to Geralt and settles himself between his legs, running his hands up his thighs.

"Sure you're okay with me doing this?" he asks and Geralt nods. He wants to tell Jaskier that he trusts him and that there's no one else he'd rather experiment with than him, but that all seems like a bit much for their third encounter, so he just nods.

Jaskier smoothes a hand up his chest as he leans over him to pluck one of the bottles from the bed. He opens it quickly and tips it upside down, letting the golden oil spread over his palm. It has a sharp, floral scent that burns in the back of Geralt's throat, but as Jaskier sets the bottle down on the floor and wraps a hand around Geralt's cock, he finds it's easy enough to divert his focus.

He starts slow but keeps a firm grip, slipping up the length of him and rubbing this thumb over the head. He gives a little squeeze before sliding back down and Geralt can't help the little groan that slips from his lips. He tips his head to the side so he can see Jaskier, watch the focus on his face and the soft amusement as Geralt struggles to hold back his pleasure. He comes quickly like this, hips twitching as Jaskier refuses to increase his speed and he barely has a chance to recover before Jaskier's bending over to grab the oil again.

"Good?" he asks and Geralt just grunts at him and shuts his eyes as Jaskier drips oil down the length of his cock. It's cool against his heated skin and he mentally follows it as it slips down to the base of him and gets lost in the hair there.

This time, Jaskier starts with his mouth, licking and sucking his way up his thighs, working him up to it again. But Geralt's cock needs no encouragement, twitching against his hip as soon as Jaskier's hand is on him. The initial touch is sensitive, but it barely takes a moment to adjust before the sensitivity turns to pleasure once more.

Geralt lies back and settles against the sheets, focusing on the drag of Jaskier's lips against his skin. He lets his hands slip down, pushing through Jaskier's hair, resting against his head. He gets a soft hum of approval in response and Jaskier tips his head up, watching him.

"That's it, darling, let me take care of you. You just lie back and relax, we're gonna be here for a while." Just the thought of that sparks something in him and Geralt rumbles low, tangling his fingers in Jaskier's hair.

Jaskier's hand slides over him again and when the second joins it, Geralt lets himself settle back against the bed, focusing solely on the warmth of Jaskier's hands around him and the softness of his hair between his fingers. He lets himself enjoy it, there's no reason not to; they'll be here for a while, after all. And Jaskier seems intent on using his time wisely. This time, he picks up the pace a little, keeping his eyes on him as he finds a steady rhythm that has his thumbs pressing beneath the head near constantly.

Geralt knows this is Jaskier's job, that being good at what he does is what keeps him employed, but it still catches him off guard how quickly and easily Jaskier can get him worked up. Tools of the trade, he tells himself; Geralt has his swords, his potions, his mutations. Jaskier has his lips, his tongue, his hands. And he uses them just as well as Geralt does any of his. But Geralt has never been at the receiving end of this kind of enthusiasm and expertise and he soaks it in now while he has the chance, letting his hips rise and fall with Jaskier's ministrations.

And it doesn't take him long before he's pushing toward that edge again. Jaskier's hands fall to the base of his cock and one slips away as his mouth takes its place. Geralt groans and his hips twitch up into the heat of his mouth as one of Jaskier's hands slips under him, encouraging the motion.

His hips work slowly, but only because he restrains himself. He knows Jaskier well enough by now to know that he would probably encourage Geralt to fuck his mouth, but he doesn't know Jaskier's limits well enough to trust himself. So he holds back, lets Jaskier take the lead and rocks gently into his mouth.

Jaskier's hands wander and Geralt's hips jerk, pressing his cock against the roof of Jaskier's mouth. He groans softly and Jaskier hums around him. When he looks up, he's got a mischievous look in his eyes and he sinks down fully. Jaskier just holds him there and Geralt's eyes nearly roll back in his head before he lets up. He lifts up again like he's about to pull off, but then his fingers slip down, cupping Geralt's balls and pressing back behind them. Geralt shudders and the motion doesn't go unnoticed; Jaskier hums encouragingly and presses a little further, skirting his hole.

The heat in his gut swells and Geraltrolls his head to the side, lips parted as he whispers a breathy fuck to the air. Jaskier hollows his cheeks and Geralt groans as he tips over the edge. He tries to warm Jaskier, but there isn't time before his orgasm hits and his hips stutter. But Jaskier just holds him steady, pressing his nose against his abdomen and letting Geralt fuck his mouth with short, stunted thrusts. He doesn't let up until Geralt whines under him, bordering on oversensitive, and tugs Jaskier's head up off his cock.

Geralt's breath comes heavy and a pleasant numbness spreads through his limbs. He settles against the sheets and Jaskier rises up over him looking him over with a satisfactory smirk.

"That's three," he hums, slipping his fingers up Geralt's thighs, "again?"

Geralt's tired, can feel the drowsiness seeping into his bones, but his cock perks up again at the thought of more and he does want to find out how far he can take this. He lets his eyes drop shut but gives a hum of assent and he can hear the smile in Jaskier's voice when he continues.

"You like when I touch you like that?" he asks, teasing back between his cheeks again. Geralt huffs as his hands draw away.

"Yes."

"Has anyone had you like this before?"

"Mm," Geralt breathes, "long time ago. Easier to find interested women than men who want me like that."

"But I can-?" Jaskier asks Geralt can hear the uncertainty in his voice and he breathes out a steady, yes, leaving no room for doubt. He reaches out, brushing his fingertips along Jaskier's shoulder and spreads his legs a little further. He doesn't miss the little groan as Jaskier presses closer, pushing his knees under Geralt's thighs.

He slicks his fingers again and Geralt shifts to give him space. Even after three orgasms, his cock still throbs at the thought of Jaskier being inside him because he knows that's what he really wants, but he can't ask for that. It's been too long and he's not ready to give himself up to someone like that. But this, this is so close, so very close to what he can't have and Jaskier is clearly excited about it, too.

He slips his fingers over Geralt's cock, moving down over his balls and back behind again. He rubs against him, a hair's breadth from his hole and Geralt's entire body shifts in an attempt to guide him closer, but Jaskier is clearly sticking to his own plans. He slips one hand around the head of Geralt's cock in a futile attempt to distract him, but it's been too long since Geralt has let anyone touch him this way and he's needy for it now. Jaskier's fingers slip further, circling around his hole but not quite touching and Geralt bites back a whine, rocking his hips back.

"Please," he finds himself saying, "Jaskier, fuck, please."

"Oh," Jaskier breathes and Geralt is reminded that he was supposed to mention the enhanced hearing thing to Jaskier. But then Jaskier's fingers finally slip into place and Geralt's entire world is reduced to the few inches of skin where they're connected.

Jaskier's fingers are slimmer than his own but it feels infinitely better than when he does this on his own. Maybe because when he does, he has to rush or because having someone else touch you always just feels better or maybe it's just Jaskier himself. But it drives him mad; he'd forgotten exactly how good it can feel not to deny yourself something and when Jaskier pushes a little harder, breaching the first ring of muscle, Geralt arches off the bed with an unconstrained moan. He throws an arm over his face, and Jaskier's fingers trail along his wrist.

"You don't have to hide," he hums, switching up the angle so he can press a little deeper. Geralt ignores him, rolling his head back as he lets his arm drop back to his side, fingers curling around the sheets.

Jaskier reaches for the oil again, coating his fingers and rubbing against Geralt's hole again before pressing back in. He draws back experimentally and when Geralt just sighs, he pushes in again. He thrusts lightly, letting Geralt adjust, but it doesn't take long before it's not enough anymore and Geralt is groaning softly, desperate for more.

He rocks his hips and pushes off the bed, anything to encourage Jaskier to give him more and then he does and Geralt nearly collapses under him. With two fingers inside of him, it's easier to imagine the real thing and Geralt wants so badly he nearly asks for it. He rocks his hips down onto Jaskier's fingers, wondering what it would be like to sit back on his cock instead. How would Jaskier fuck him, if Geralt let him? Would he take a step back, let Geralt fuck himself on his cock? Or would he bend him in half, fuck into him until they were both panting and sweat-slick.

He finds, as Jaskier circles a third finger around his rim, that he doesn't really care all that much. He just wants to come with Jaskier inside him and it doesn't matter if it's his fingers or his cock. Distantly, he considers the idea of Jaskier's tongue inside him and heat sears through his chest, his cock pulsing against his hip. He's getting close already, and when Jaskier presses a third finger into him, stretching him further, Geralt nearly growls his impatience at him.

And Jaskier just keeps going, fucking into him with increasing vigour until Geralt is right on the precipice, so close he can taste it. And if he hadn't have come three times already, he'd probably come just like this, but right now it's not enough. Then Jaskier's fingers slip around his cock again and it feels like the breath has been punched from his lungs.

His hips snap up involuntarily, seeking the warm friction of Jaskier's palm and it's only a few minutes before he's coming again, squeezing around Jaskier's fingers as he spills onto his stomach. For a few seconds, he lies still with Jaskier's fingers still inside him, then Jaskier pulls out and he shudders at the loss. For a moment, he feels utterly bereft, but he chides himself for it and shifts to get more comfortable.

This isn't anything special. It's different than before, but Jaskier is still only here because he's being paid and Geralt is still a mutant at the end of the day. But it doesn't stop Jaskier from smiling down at him like that, all breathless and soft. And it doesn't stop Geralt from feeling, just for a little while, like maybe he could be something more than just a monster.

But he's not delusional and he knows how these things work. It doesn't stop him from dropping his hand to cup Jaskier's jaw, running his thumb over his bottom lip.

He really is a sight, flushed and sweaty from exertion. Jaskier is incredibly beautiful to begin with, but with a pink tinge to his cheeks and his hair ruffled like that it's no wonder people come back to him time and time again. People - and Geralt. But he really doesn't have much choice if he wants to get laid so he comes back even knowing he's being drawn into the game. And when Jaskier leans over him, tracing his fingers up his sensitive cock, he can't even be bothered to care.

"You really like that, don't you?" he muses, sliding back against Geralt's rim and circling it with his index finger. Geralt sighs in response, shifting in place. He's sticky with sweat already and judging by the look on Jaskier's face, they still gave a while to go.

When Jaskier presses into him again, Geralt lets himself sink into the bed but he keeps his eyes on Jaskier. This time, when Jaskier's fingers seek out that spot inside him, Geralt is too worked up to do more than lie there and let him. Not that it's much of a hardship.

Jaskier works him through another orgasm like this - or maybe two - alternating bringing him off with his mouth and hand before Geralt's eyes drop shut on their own. Pleasure rips through him as Jaskier's mouth slips over the head of his cock again and he groans and reaches back behind him, wrapping his arms around the pillow under his head.

"That's it, beautiful, you're doing so well." Geralt groans as Jaskier takes him down deep and as he comes, he whimpers, shuddering against the bed.

Jaskier doesn't stop. Geralt doesn't even have time to get soft before Jaskier's tongue is running along the underside of his cock again, working him up to it again. He's lost count now, of how many times Jaskier has made him come tonight, but his body is still vibrating from the last when Jaskier starts fucking into him again.

"Gods," he breathes, "you look beautiful like this. Tell me how you're feeling Geralt, still good?"

"Mmhm." It's as much as he can get out right now, but Jaskier seems happy enough with the response. Jaskier shifts above him and Geralt is vaguely aware of him talking as he leans up over him. Geralt looks up into striking blue eyes and groans as Jaskier drops to kiss the side of his neck.

"No idea," he mumbles, "what you do to me." Geralt manages to muster up a scoff before Jaskier reaches up and takes his hand. He pulls him down between them, wrapping Geralt's hand around his cock, now hot and hard against his skin. And that does something to Geralt.

Jaskier is a whore and a popular one. He's probably gotten off at least once already today, if not more, and the thought that he can still get hard for Geralt is impressive. And arguably the biggest turn-on Geralt has experienced in his long life. It makes his breath catch and he finds his hand moving without his permission, curling around Jaskier's erection and stroking in time with Jaskier's thrusting into him.

It's such a stupid, simple thing but the fact that Jaskier is aroused by him, especially when he’s so passive and helpless like this, sparks his arousal. For the first time since the fourth orgasm, he is eager to come again, to feel that heat swell and swell until he can't hold on anymore. Because for the first time, he believes the things Jaskier has said to him, believes that this stunning man enjoys the time they have together. And stupidly, he lets himself dwell on that.

He lets himself feel every touch as real; every breath that Jaskier mouths against his skin, every thrust, every brush of fingertips - real. His head swims with it, with the utter thrill of being wanted and his need spikes. Geralt groans as he rocks back onto Jaskier's fingers and the man hums and pulls from Geralt's grasp. He shifts to straddle his thigh, his free hand curling around Geralt's cock again and it's wonderful.

Almost more than the touch on his own body, Geralt thrills in the press of Jaskier's cock into the soft flesh of his thigh. Jaskier gives more than he takes, but as Geralt shifts closer and closer to the rush, he can feel Jaskier's urgency grow. He rocks his hips slowly and Geralt presses his leg up against him, encouraging Jaskier to take his own pleasure from him. And that's something he didn't think he would like quite so much as he does - especially from someone he's paying for his own satisfaction - but his blood rushes at the thought. And maybe that's why he's so inclined to let Jaskier do what he wants with him.

And maybe Jaskier knows that. Maybe that's why he does what he does next. Because Geralt is so close - so fucking close - but he can't quite push over that edge. His body is physically exhausted, but he needs it and he can't quite get there like this. He wants to ask for Jaskier's mouth, but he can't quite form the words and then Jaskier leans over him. His cock sits heavily against Geralt's hip, drooling against his skin and Geralt's senses and filled with the scent of him, both the oils he uses and the scent of his arousal. And Jaskier dips his head, lets his lips brush against Geralt's ear, soft and warm.

"You keep coming back to me," he breathes, "and one day I'll make you come on my fingers alone."

That's all it takes, apparently, and Geralt comes with a desperate whine, spilling over Jaskier's fingers and arching off the bed. He's sweaty, sticking to the sheet as he falls back against them and Jaskier wipes his hand on the bed before reaching out to push the hair from Geralt's face.

"You are so beautiful like this," he whispers.

"Y'know I can hear you, right?"

"Had heard something about Witcher hearing," Jaskier huffs, "don't mind. Wouldn't say anything if I cared that you'd hear it." He dips down, pressing his lips to the swell of Geralt's stomach, placing soft kisses in a line there. "That was eight, gorgeous, think we can make it nine?"

Geralt just hums, still sighing against the fog in his mind. He can come again, he thinks, but some other way. He doesn't have to say as much for Jaskier to catch on. But when Jaskier changes position, shifting to straddle Geralt's hips, his cock slides alongside Geralt's rubbing against him as he leans down over him. Geralt's cock twitches lightly as he groans at the touch and Jaskier smiles down at him before bending to kiss his collarbone.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes?" He shuffles forward a little, cock pushing into Geralt's stomach as he reaches back behind him.

His fingers are still slick, but he reaches for the oil again, sliding his fingers into the bottle before curling them around Geralt's cock. The initial touch is too much and Geralt shudders at the touch, breathing out a whine that sounds far too needy to have come from him.

"This alright?" he asks and Geralt nods as he slides his hands up Jaskier's thighs, curling around the soft curve of his hips.

Jaskier strokes him back to full hardness. It takes a few minutes this time but once he's past the initial oversensitivity, Geralt's body lights up with the touch. It's not so constant as before, not quite such a sharp sensation, but when Jaskier sits back on him, his fingers dig in instinctively.

"Make me come again," Jaskier breathes, planting his hand on Geralt's chest. He runs his fingers through the hair there, tugging lightly as he tests out a slow pace.

Geralt likes any way Jaskier touches him, but he prefers this. He prefers to come with the warmth of another body against him, around him. And Jaskier touches him everywhere, presses himself flush against his chest and kisses his neck. Before he came to Hagge, Geralt never appreciated the effect a soft mouth could have on him, least on all on his neck. But that's Jaskier's target tonight, kissing and sucking softly at the skin, careful not to leave marks. Although a deep, secret part of Geralt wants him to leave marks, imagines seeing the splotchy skin in his reflection in the river.

He can't know if Jaskier understands exactly the effect it has on him, but he doesn't let up. If anything, Jaskier's kisses become more desperate, less controlled as he bounces on Geralt’s cock.

Jaskier comes first, biting his lip and stripping his cock as he sits back, clenching around Geralt. He comes all over himself and Geralt is quick to follow, still blindly thrusting up into him.

This time, he's exhausted and his eyes stay shut despite his best efforts. He ignores Jaskier's protests, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him against his chest and once they're pressed together, the slick of Jaskier's spend against both their skin. Jaskier's protests fail him. He hums softly instead, reaching up to run his fingers over Geralt's cheek.

"You were incredible," he whispers, "so good, my darling." And Geralt hums, barely understanding the words through the fog of satisfaction and exhaustion. He's sweaty and covered in come and oil, but he's been covered in much worse in the past and when Jaskier shifts gently out of his arms, he wants to protest, but he's too tired.

"Rest now," Jaskier says, "I'll have them fill a bath for us."

"Thank you," Geralt murmurs and Jaskier huffs a soft laugh.

"For the bath?"

"For caring." It's maybe not exactly how he intended to word it, but as Jaskier's fingers slip through his hair, he thinks he got his meaning across anyway.

[illfoandillfie]

Hey i hope you're enjoying your time off work so far! Id like to request a roger blurb please, it's not from a prompt list but I had a thought the other day I couldn't get out of my head! So I was reading something on The Cross and the other lads in the band were like 22, and I just imagined being one of their friends and they offer to bring you into the studio for a day because youre interested to see how they record but you're a bit nervous to meet roger and when are introduced you can't get over how hot he is in the flesh and he thinks youre really cute and takes a liking to you and theres a bit of flirting and loads of chemistry 😍 honestly would love to read a whole fic on this but a blurb would great! 😁 p.s sorry this is so long! 😂

This is such a cute idea! I hope I did it justice!

~~~

You’ve known Peter for years. Watched as he’s picked up the bass as a hobby and then got seriously into it. You went with him when he went to audition for a band, waited out the front of the building they held them in and asked him how it went when he was done. The rumour was that a musician who was already quite famous was looking for people to join a new band so your first question was actually…

“Who was it?”

“Roger Taylor!”

“Who?”

“From Queen! Y’know, the drummer,”

Less exciting than you’d imagined. If it had been Freddie himself you would have been more impressed. And the guitarist (whats-his-name, tall fellow with all the hair) might have been worth a exclamation and maybe tempted you to turn back and try and catch a glimpse. But the drummer? Who cares. But the good news was that Peter was in. Rodney or whatever his name was had clearly liked what he saw and you couldn’t blame him, Peter was the best bassist you knew, best musician you knew. You were proud of Peter and happy for him.

There were a few perks to being besties with the bassist in a proper band. He gave you copies of all their albums and you got to meet the rest of the band. Well most of them. The singer, the famous one, had never been able to make it, always busy with Queen or his family. But he seemed like a top bloke from everything you heard about him and you did like his style, his voice. You’d thought you might finally get to meet him when you went and saw them play on the tour but unfortunately you’d had to back out at the last minute after catching a flu-like bug.

It wasn’t until they were working on the next album that it happened. You were hanging out at Peter’s place, his first day off since they’d finished recording, when he got a phone call. As he put it, some fucking moron had fucked up one of the tapes and they had to go in and re-record a whole fucking song. He was apologetic for ruining your day together but you waved him off. You could see him again tomorrow or the next day or whenever.

“Unless you wanted to come with me? Hopefully it won’t take more than a couple of hours and then we can go see a movie or something. And you can see how we make an album.”

“All that shit you’ve told me about it might actually make some sense,” you laughed but agreed to the plan.

Spike was the first to see you, pulling you into a hug but the rest of the band was soon saying hi too and waving as they plugged in instruments and tuned them. Peter left you to find Roger and ask what had been lost so you ambled around the studio, looking at the records that hung on the walls and all the equipment. The numerous buttons and dials and adjustable slides made you feel a little like you were in a space ship in a sci-fi movie. You were just beginning to wonder where Peter had vanished to and when they’d be getting on with it when the door behind you opened and in he walked with Roger. You smiled and waved and he said something to Roger before they came over to your corner of the room.

“So you’re Y/N? I’m sorry I haven’t been able to meet you earlier, Peter’s told me so much about you.” He reached out to shake your hand as he spoke and you were struck by how charming he was.

“He has, has he?”

“All good I promise,”

“Of course it’s all good. He knows how much dirt I have on him.”

Roger laughed as Peter rolled his eyes.

“Sorry, I’m Roger by the way.”

“Nice to finally meet you Roger,”

“I’ll try not to keep your boy too long. But please, make yourself comfortable. There’s a couch over there or you can sit and watch what they do at the desk.”

You thanked him for letting you be there and wished them luck as they turned and went through the second door into the recording space. And then you kicked yourself for saying something so stupid. No one had told you Roger was hot. That was crucial information and no one had thought to inform you. You’d heard he was funny and a great musician and all this other stuff and not once had they said he was hot! You tried to remember if you’d noticed it on any of the record sleeves but you couldn’t say you’d really paid much attention. You’d been much more focused on Peter. But now, after having met Roger, you felt like you were regressing to a giggly teenager again and had to turn around so no one would see you grinning.

After a bit of discussion half the band left the recording space, leaving the drummer to lay down his part first. Peter came over to talk to you, but your eyes were firmly stuck on Roger as he bent over one of the mixing boards.

“Y/N, did you hear me?” Peter said, tapping you on the shoulder.

“Huh?”

“Can you stop drooling over Rog for a second,”

“I’m not drooling,” you wrenched your eyes away from Roger and turned to face Peter instead.

“Might as well be,”

“What’s his deal anyway?”

“Seriously?”

“I’m curious, sue me,”

“Divorced. Kids. Twice your age,”

“Any downsides I should know about?”

“Twice your age isn’t a downside?”

“Course not. Means he’s experienced and mature,”

Peter laughed and you took the opportunity to look over at Roger again, though you quickly brought your gaze back to Peter.

“Seriously though, is there any reason I should be wary?”

“I’ve known Rog for a few years now and he’s a really great guy, if a little busy. Plus, if Spike’s stories about Queen tours are to be believed, you’re right to say he’s experienced,”

You laughed and this time when you looked back at Roger your eyes met. You smiled, the sort of flirty smile the boys in the local pub liked. He smiled back before turning to the desk again.

 For the next few hours you watched as each band member took a turn in the booth, playing their part over and over and over until everyone was satisfied with how it sounded. It was a little boring, the novelty soon wearing off, but there were things to keep you entertained. Peter talked to you while he wasn’t preoccupied, sometimes joined by one or two of the others. Occasionally they’d interrupt whatever they were saying to comment on how the person playing sounded, and Roger would make adjustments based on the feedback, or talk into the little speaker and relay the advice. Mostly you amused yourself by fantasising about Roger, watching him over the shoulder of whoever was talking to you. You caught him look at you a few more times too. It happened more frequently once Peter was in the booth and you decided you might as well make a move. Afterall, how likely was it you’d see Roger again any time soon?  

He’d said you could sit closer to the desk if you wanted so you sidled up next to him and asked him to explain what you were looking at. He beckoned you closer still, wrapped his arm around your waist as he pointed out different slides and buttons and explained what they did. There was a definite tension between you, something electric, something that made your skin tingle where his hand lay. You nodded along, asked questions. He seemed impressed by that, happily answering everything in great detail. Until he turned back to watch Peter, his hand slipping from your waist and his voice becoming much more serious. When Peter was done, you hugged him and said he sounded great.

“I saw you practically sitting on Roger’s lap just now,” he whispered, double checking Roger himself wasn’t listening in.

“I think he likes me,”

“You’re young and pretty of course he likes you,”

“You’re the worst person to talk to about this,” you laughed, “But would you care if I…”

“What, seduced him?”

“I was going to say asked him out but same diff,”

“Y/N, you’re a grown woman and I’m not your keeper,”

“Okay but you’re in a band with him, I don’t want to like, get in the way.”

“If you want to go for it then go for it.”

“Even with the age gap?”

“It clearly doesn’t bother you and lord knows I hope that when I’m 40 something I can still pull 22 year olds.”

You laughed, your mind made up.

There wasn’t much chance to put your plan in motion inside the studio. Too many people and Roger became distracted as it was his turn to record his vocals. Hearing Roger sing what was obviously a love song made your breath catch and your heart race. If you’d felt unsure about him, those doubts were gone. You found yourself standing by the desk again, not to see how they adjusted the levels but just to be closer to the glass between you and Roger. He smiled at you between verses and you desperately wanted to be the person he was singing about. As he re-sang the final verse, adjusting based on feedback from the others, you felt like you needed some air. Slipping out the door you headed down the corridor and stepped out of the building. Two vending machines were there and you dug out your purse for some change. As you were crouching down to collect the bottle you heard the door open again. It was Roger.

“I’m sorry this is taking longer than we thought,”

“Oh, it’s fine I feel like I understand what Peter does now. But maybe can make it up to me after with a coffee?”

Roger opened his mouth to respond and then paused.

“Doesn’t have to be coffee…”

“I’m flattered but I’m not sure that’s a good idea,”

“Why not? Is it because I’m younger than you?”

“No, no, that’s not it. I’m just not in the habit of taking my bandmates girls’ out on dates,”

Realisation dawned on you and you began to laugh, even more so once you saw Roger’s confused expression, “Me and Peter aren’t together. We’re just mates,”

“Really? But he talks about you a lot and Spike said-”

“Spike doesn’t know what he’s on about. Did you not wonder why I was flirting so much?

“No, I definitely wondered. But that’s, that’s good.”

“Good?”

“Well, what I mean is, you’re cute. I would have asked you out already expect that I thought…But that’s by the by, um,” he scratched the back of his head, “So you still want to get that coffee?”